CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Return of the Cat

 

Crockett levered himself out of the helo and stood gasping on the tarmac as a grinning Cletus unloaded the luggage.

“You look like shit,” Clete said.

“Thank you,” Crockett panted, leaning back against the Bell.

“Wow,” Stitch said, walking up from the rear rotor. “You gonna spew, dude?”

“Oh, God,” Crockett groaned.

“You’re, like, green, man. You gonna throw up, or what?”

“Shut up.” Crockett growled.

“You really look like you’re gonna hurl, man,” Stitch went on.

“Shut the fuck up,” Crockett gurgled.

“Hey, Clete,” Stitch said. “You ever seen a cat that looked more like he was gonna blow big ol’ industrial chunks than ol’ Crockett, man? I mean, the dude looks ready to, like, erupt, ya know? Fuckin’ upchuck city! You gonna puke, Crockett, or just stand there and gag?”

That did it. Driven over the edge, Crockett put his hands on his knees, leaned over, and let it happen. Stitch took a step backwards.

“Oh wow, you yaked! That’s, like, really gross, ya know, dude? A technicolor sidewalk pizza. Yuk!”

Clete laughed. “Hey, Stitch,” he said. “I was you, I’d find somethin’ to do on the other side of the bird or somewhere. Crockett’s gonna get rid of all that stuff in a minute. Then he’s gonna stand up. Then he’s gonna look around. Then he’s gonna see you. When he sees you, he’s probably gonna wanna take some sort of action. That could include tearing your head off.”

Stitch appeared to be surprised. “Me? What’d I do?”

 

Twenty minutes later they were waiting for an attendant at the car rental counter.

“I’m, like, really sorry, Crockett,” Stitch said. “I guess I was kinda hard on you and your motion sickness thing. I mean, you churned out some real cubic footage, man. Major hoopage. A significant emission, dude. Like, vomitus maximus, ya know?”

Crockett was still slightly green. He glared at Stitch. Stitch flinched.

“Why don’t I, like, wait for you cats outside?” he said, and vacated the room.

 

Crockett and Cletus arrived at the Deadwood Holiday Inn Express Hotel a little after lunchtime. Crockett got a mini suite with an adjoining single on ground level, and the two of them gathered in the suit’s living area.

“Okay, Hawkeye,” Clete said. “Now what?”

“Ernie’s,” Crockett said. “Then we talk to Philo Bodine.”

Clete grinned. “Any relation to Jethro Bodine?”

Crockett winced. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you ask him when we find him?”

“Ya know,” Clete said, “speakin’ of ol’ Jed an’ them, I always wondered if Ellie Mae an’ Jethro was sneakin’ out behind the cement pond and bumpin’ uglies.”

Crockett was indignant. “How can you even think such a thing? Something like that would have killed Granny. My God, man! Control yourself. And it’s Philo, not Jethro.”

“Philo Bodine,” Clete said. “Sounds like a gunfighter or somethin’.”

“Cletus Marshal, don’t exactly sound like no Sunday School teacher, son.”

Clete looked at him with cold eyes. “You really wanna talk about names, Davey?”

Crockett’s hand flew to his forehead and he looked away. “Can’t resist the cheap shot, can you?” he asked. “Can’t resist hurting my feelings, can you?”

“New bra botherin’ you, Mary?” Clete asked.

The two men stood glaring at each other. Crockett broke first, grinning as he flopped into a chair.

“Ah-ha!” Cletus crowed. “I win!”

“All part of my master plan,” Crockett said.

“So we go see Philo, then we get in touch with his granddaughter, the hooker.”

“Puma,” Crockett said. “Real name is Terri. At least that’s what she claimed. I’ll try to get her to come here. I don’t want anybody to connect us. Last resort is trolling for her at Cadillac Jacks.”

“Be a pretty good idea to keep me away from fleshy temptations,” Clete said. “Country boy like me, away from home and normal moral restraints, could lose Jesus in a place like this.”

“Many have, my friend,” Crockett said, getting to his feet as Clete opened the door to the hall. “Above all focus on the fact that, with a little provocation, Satin could kick your narrow ass on the best day you ever had. Think what she could do to you if properly inspired.”

“So what kinda guy is ol’ Philo?” Clete asked.

Crockett followed him out of the room.

 

A little before seven that evening, the boys were again seated, slightly scotch enhanced, in the living area of their suite. They had been to Ernie’s and, after a suitable quantity of conversation and drinks, convinced Ernie to give Crockett Philo’s phone number. Philo had met the two of them at a scenic overlook a few miles outside of town. Among the bits of information they gleaned from Philo was Puma’s cell number. Clete induced Philo to accept a thousand dollars while Crockett called Puma. She would be free that evening and would be glad to join Dan Beckett in his room at the Holiday Inn Express at seven.

“What kinda kid is this?” Clete asked.

“Who? Puma?”

“Yeah.”

Crockett thought a moment. “She’s disassociated with average reality and morality, and is extremely jaded for her age. She’s doing what she believes she has to do to live. She’s very pretty and sensual, with amazing after-market enhanced mammary glands. She enjoys the power she has over men. She liked to try to shock me from time to time. Good to keep a john off balance, I guess.”

“But you weren’t a john.”

“I’m male. In her book, that’s a john.”

A knock sounded on the door. Clete glanced at his watch. “Dead on seven,” he said.

Crockett opened the door. Puma, wearing towering heels with clear Lucite soles, a very short, hip-hugger, buckskin skirt with a fringed hem and a matching buckskin halter-top, stood in the hallway. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle and braided down both sides. She wore a narrow buckskin headband and long dangling earrings of Indian beadwork.

Jesus.

Puma smiled. “Ugh,” she said. “You wantum squaw? You gotum wampum?”

Crockett returned her smile. “Custer was an idiot,” he said. “C’mon in.”

Two steps into the room, Puma noticed Cletus. Automatically she dropped deeper into character.

“Oh. Two of you. Now, I don’t want you boys to fight over me. The night is young and so am I. There’s plenty to go around.” She dropped her buckskin purse on the bed and slowly sat in a chair, languidly crossing her legs as she settled back. “I have amazing endurance,” she said.

Clete smiled. “Clint Marsh, m’am,” he said. “Beckett has told me a little about you.”

Puma shifted in her seat. “Not as much as he could have told you if he’d gotten more of his money’s worth the last time he was here,” she said. “How ‘bout you? I can do anything. Anything I can do?”

Clete grinned. “Mercy,” he said. “You got this all worked out, doncha?”

“Sweetie,” Puma said, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, “you want a workout, you got the right girl. The best night of your life starts whenever you want.”

Clete laughed. “Oh, my! Darlin’, you are a piece a work, no doubt about that. When I was twenty years old, you woulda scared the shit outa me. Lord, God! But you gotta understand that me an ol’ Beckett here is cut from kinda the same cloth. Would we like to jump ya? Absolutely. Would we jump ya? Absolutely not. Why? Simple. We wouldn’t be the only ones it would affect. Even if it truly was the best we ever had, the next day it wouldn’t be near good enough.”

Crockett jumped in. “That said, how much you want for the night?”

“A night full of thrills and passion like last time?” Puma asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Five-hundred.”

“Sorry,” Crockett said, “I won’t pay less than a grand.”

“Since it’s you, okay. I can live with a thousand.”

“Good. Now, the white robe is in its customary position in the bath off the big bedroom. Go get out of your Native American travesty and see if you can find Terri anywhere. Turkey sandwiches okay?”

“How ‘bout pizza?” Puma asked, standing and moving toward the bedroom door.

“Pizza?”

“Look out your window. Across the parking lot is Angelo’s Pizza. Phone number is on the sign. He delivers here all the time.”

“Okay. What kind ya want?”

“Just tell ‘em two of Puma’s usual,” she said, poised in the bedroom portal.

“Puma’s usual, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” she said turning in the doorway and looking over her shoulder at Crockett. He couldn’t help it. He stared. Puma smiled.

“Have them put it on my tab,” she said. Crockett watched as she patted herself on the bottom and disappeared behind the door.

“Damn,” Clete said. “And you didn’t…?

“Nope,” Crockett said, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Son, you are a helluva man. I think I wanna have your babies.”

 

“That’s it for me,” Crockett said, tossing a half-eaten crescent of crust back into the nearly empty pizza box that sat on the corner of the bed. Seductively posed behind it, swaddled in a white robe at least ten sizes too big, Puma, now Terri, took a sip of Coke and belched.

“’Scuse me,” she said, and headed for the bathroom.

Clete rose and began collecting all the trash. “Damn,” he said.

“What?” Crockett asked.

“Kid like that,” Clete went on. “Could be a model, could be a teacher, could be a dental assistant, could be a actress, could be a heart surgeon, could make a helluva living at Hooter’s, for chrissakes. She doesn’t havta hook.”

“She thinks she does. And it reinforces her belief that she’s tough.”

Clete shook his head. “Well, they ain’t no doubt that the lady does possess a certain amount of appeal,” he said. “That big ol’ white robe may have even made things worse. I might have to gouge out my eyes, ard. Godamighty!”

Crockett grinned. “You have any control left?” he asked.

“Not very much. If my neck starts to swell, yer gonna have to lock me in the smokehouse agin tonight.”

“How bout I cuff your wrist to the bed frame?”

Clete thought a moment. “Which wrist?” he asked.

 

By the time Terri returned, Clete had stuff thrown away and Crockett had put the furniture back to its original positions. The young woman sat cross-legged on the bed, the robe gathered about her knees. Cletus looked at her.

“You’re just a kid,” he said.

Terri smiled. “I’m older than I look,” she said, “but I don’t have to be.” Her eyes became big and a pout overtook her face. “Maybe you could buy me a lollipop, mister. Maybe you already got something I could lick. Do ya? Huh?”

Clete shook his head. “Okay,” he said. “You can quit now.”

“Sometimes I’m bad and need a spanking,” Terri went on, warming to the part. “Would you spank me if I was bad, sir? You know, put me across your lap, pull down my…”

“All right,” Crockett said. “That’s plenty. Knock it off.”

Terri looked at Crockett and the little girl fell away. “This about the lodge again?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m goin’ out there tomorrow.”

“You are?” Crockett said.

Terri nodded. “Yeah. Six of us are booked for tomorrow night.”

“That’s more than usual, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” Terry went on. “Six more girls are booked for two nights later. Everybody must be there.”

“Everbody?” Clete asked.

“All the body guards and stuff.”

“How many?”

“Bodyguards?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, lemme see. There’s Boomer, Razor, Shaz, Ice, and Cactus. That’s five, right?”

“If ya don’t count Sleepy, Doc, and Dopey,” Clete said.

“Hammer and Slick may be there, too. Can’t tell by how many girls are called. They don’t like girls. Then, of course, there’s Phillips.”

“Phillips?”

“Metzger,” Crockett said.

“Cooper could be there, too,” Terri went on.

Crockett looked at Clete. “Boster,” he said.

Clete nodded. “Nine guys,” he said. “Possibly.”

“You know the phone number at the lodge?” Crockett asked.

Terri shook her head.

“Okay. If you could take a two or three weeks off, where would you go?”

“Vegas or Tahoe,” Terri said. “Make it kind of a working vacation. See the sights, make a few bucks, party hearty. Maybe I’d even pay somebody to do it my way for a change.”

“Five thousand dollars do that for ya?”

“Five grand? Fuck, yes! I get enough work and can stay independent, I might not even come back.”

“Okay. The grand you’ve got, plus five more, payable tonight. Sound good?”

“Yeah. What do I have to do?”

“Call me as soon as you’re free of your appointment at the lodge, tell me how many people are staying there and what the landline phone number is.”

“That’s it?”

“Almost. You have to promise that as soon as you call me with the information, you are out of town. You don’t stay here that night, and you don’t come back to Deadwood for at least three weeks.”

“Five grand just for that?”

“Just for that.”

“I don’t have to blow a giraffe or anything?”

“We don’t have a step ladder,” Crockett said, fishing around in his suitcase for the cash. “The room next door is open if you want to start your vacation tonight.”

“Another evening of hot baths and TV?”

Crockett smiled and handed her a wad of cash. “You could use the break.”

“You’re right,” Terri said. “A night off before I have to do Boomer and Razor and anybody else that wants a ride, then whatever I want for three weeks. Deal.”

Ten minutes later, after making it clear that she was at their beck and call and that the door would remain unlocked, Terri had disappeared into her room. Clete pushed himself upright, looked at the connecting door, then peered at Crockett.

“Reckon I’m goin’ to the house,” he said.

Crockett looked at his watch. “At nine o’clock?”

Clete let his eyes travel to the connecting door again and shook his head. “I figure,” he said, “that since it’s gonna take at least three hours for me to cry myself to sleep, I better get started.”

 

Clete put a little salt on his biscuits and gravy and looked across the table. “You see her this morning?” he asked. They were sitting in a Bob Evans restaurant having breakfast.

Crockett shook his head. “Nope. I did slip a piece of paper with my satellite phone number under her door, though.”

“Dangerous kid,” Clete went on. “You take it upon yourself to help straighten her out, and she just might redirect your thinkin’, son. That there little shit is temptation on fire.”

“And a meth whore by the time she’s thirty,” Crockett said. “Hell of a past and not much of a future. Damn shame.”

“You can save folks from everthang ‘cept they own mistakes,” Clete drawled.

Crockett took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Fuck it,” he said. “Back to Rapid City this afternoon, rest up, go over shit with Stitch, then on the way to the ellzee about four in the morning?”

“Sounds good to me. This is some serious shit, Crockett. You ready for it?”

“I guess.”

“I guess ain’t good enough, Pard.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You got a problem?”

“I don’t know. I mean, were goin’ out there so I can shoot a bunch of people, for chrissakes.”

Clete grinned. “It’s a dirty job,” he said.

“Goddammit, Marshal! You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know damn well what you mean. But this here is the guy that sent the guys to threaten you, damn near kill ya at the airport, an’ almost blow Satin up with a bomb that was meant for you. This is the guy that ordered poor ol’ Joe Beckner’s throat cut. This is the guy that got Ruby shot to death. And them that are with him are worse than he is. They’re not even operatin’ from passion. They’re just in it for the fuckin’ money.”

Clete paused for a bite of scrambled egg. “I don’t only know what you mean, Crockett, I know you,” he said. “When we’re on site and things start, you will do exactly what you’ve been trained to do. These killers ain’t people. They’re targets. And pard, when it comes to targets, you are the biggest bull in the pasture.”

Crockett’s smile was rueful. “Thanks, Clete,” he said.

Clete nodded. “’Sides, ol’ man, if you got yerself some performance anxiety, maybe I oughta check an’ see if ol’ Puma is in the house. Even at your age, she might be able to straighten you out, if you get my drift.”

Crockett smiled. “Sounds to me,” he said, “like you got lust in your heart for that young lady.”

Clete chuckled. “Not necessarily for her,” he said. “But I shore do admire what she stands for.”