Arkansas Assault

14

By the time he reached town, Fargo saw that some of the revelers had already taken to the main street. American flags, bunting, and banners festooned the street. A band consisting of an accordion, trombone, and fiddle played some pretty terrible dance music while drunks of both sexes careened and caromed through big, dramatic steps that looked more like wrestling than dancing.

Light was provided by a small bonfire overseen by a night deputy and his shotgun. You could have fun but not too much fun. Firelight played on the glazed, sweaty faces of the imbibers, giving their features mask-like qualities.

Just after dawn, this street would be jammed with wagons, buckboards, buggies, and men, women, and children of every kind. The state had entered the Union in 1836 and was proud of it.

Fargo went straight to his hotel. In the morning, he’d contact Liz Turner and share with her what he’d learned from Aaron.

He was one step into his room when a young, seductive female voice said, “No need to turn the lamp up, Mr. Fargo. I’m still on duty so this will have to be fast, I’m afraid.”

Now, how could you turn that down?

Even as he was dropping his trousers, she leaned forward and guided him to the bed with his rigid shaft, which she promptly began to stroke as if it were holy.

When he got on the bed and straddled her, she began to rub his massive tool against her breasts, her nipples coming erect instantly as her hips began to writhe and her throat fill with moans.

Only when her entire body was wracked with desire did she move his unbending rod down to the dark beauty between her legs. Once again, she teased both of them by running the tip of him up and down the lips of her sex. He began to moan as much as she did, sliding his huge arms under her small body and easing himself into her.

She’d wanted it fast and she got it fast, the two of them caught up as one in the play of their bodies. He surprised her by moving them both to the edge of the bed where she sat on his lap and began to bounce up and down on his shaft, biting his shoulder hard to suppress that animal scream yearning for freedom. But such a scream would only get her in trouble. Somebody might report her to the manager.

Fargo wanted to do his own screaming when he poured himself into her, her relentless grinding of his shaft causing him to have a moment that felt a little bit like dying—everything stopped—there was only the searing pleasure of their lust and the exquisite tautness of her buttocks in his hands.

As she was shuddering and falling into him, he blessed her nipples with a quick kiss, and she shuddered all the more.

Fargo had to give them credit. They’d worked out a pretty effective plan.

He woke to the sound of the revelers, wondering what time it was. The drinkers and the dancers were going to be completely spent by dawn. They’d spend the Fourth tending to hangovers instead of getting into the fun.

Darkness. The faint squeak of a doorknob in need of oil as it was turned to the right. Fargo slid his hand to the floor, where he kept his Colt. He filled his hand with it as he came up off the bed, waiting for his intruder.

A silhouette of a man in the tallest western hat Fargo had ever seen. Too bad the man wasn’t as slick at his hat. He came creeping in on cowboy boots with all the grace of an elephant turned ballerina. Always in sight thanks to the flickering sconce in the hall.

The intruder’s eyes obviously hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet.

Fargo said, “Hand the gun over, mister.”

Fargo stepped out of the gloom and slapped the barrel of his Colt across the face of the startled, blinking man.

Since he resented being wakened from a sound sleep, Fargo swatted the man around for a time, hitting him on the jaw, knocking the wind out of him with a punch delivered straight to his sternum. He finished by taking the man’s fancy new six-shooter from him.

He was just busy enough that his mind didn’t quite register the other sound in the room. By the time he started to turn, it was too late.

A man was climbing through the window where there was a fire escape that ran from ground to roof. The man had had no problem.

“Couple of ways we can do this, Fargo. Your way or my way.” He pointed a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun at Fargo. “Toss your gun onto the bed.”

Fargo recognized the voice of the white man who’d been with the Mexican yesterday morning. They’d taken Daisy.

The gunny who had come through the door was picking himself up and cursing. He’d just been humiliated and physically hurt in the process.

He staggered to the table and turned up the lamp.

“Name’s Ekert,” said the man with the shotgun. “Guess I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself yesterday.”

“Let’s get going,” said his partner. He was still nervous from the humiliation. A man like him preferred to think of himself as tough. That was the only thing he could claim to be. Smart, no. Cunning, no. Successful, no. But tough—damned tough. Except he wasn’t damned tough, was he? Not anymore, not in the eyes of Ekert, anyway.

“We’re taking a trip, Mr. Fargo.” Ekert glanced around the room suspiciously, as if expecting a leprechaun with a six-gun to be hiding somewhere.

“Same kind of trip you took Daisy on?”

“Believe it or not, nobody told the Mex to kill her,” Ekert said. “He was just supposed to keep her hidden ’till the boat came.”

The boat. Fargo thought about the island Aaron Tillman had alluded to. Maybe this was the fastest way to find out what was going on. Let himself become a captive of these two gunnies—given the fact that they had the drop on him didn’t leave him much choice, anyway—and see if that led him to the boat and the island.

“Get your clothes on,” Ekert said.

“You’re gonna be sorry you hit me,” said the other gunny.

Fargo dressed.

“I take it Noah sent you,” he said as he pulled on his boots.

“Who sent us is none of your business,” Ekert said.

“It’s gonna be a pleasure to pay you back,” the other gunny said.

“We don’t hurt him,” Ekert said. “The island, remember?”

“The Mexican was a lot tougher than this one,” Fargo said, smiling at the other gunny. “This one isn’t tough and he isn’t smart.”

Fargo saw an easy chance for escape. He could smash the lamp. He was close enough to the open window to dive through. In the darkness, Ekert wouldn’t be able to figure out what was going on until it was too late.

But as salty—not to mention crazy—Cap’n Bill had told him, the easiest way to get on the island was to have somebody kidnap him and take him there.

Well, here was his chance.

He buttoned his shirt, hefted his manhood to a more comfortable angle inside his breeches, and then said, “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

“What the hell’re you so happy about?” the other gunny asked.

“Well, hell, friend,” Fargo said. “It’s the Fourth of July. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“He sounds like he’s got somethin’ funny planned,” the other gunny said to Ekert.

“Shut up,” Ekert said.

They left the room by way of the fire escape.