The Lawman

Chapter Eight

Red Moran liked Mexican food almost as much as he liked Mexican women. That was why he figured that when he settled down for good, it would be down here, in Mexico.

He was in the cantina, finishing up some chicken and rice with beans when Carmen, the big-breasted whore, entered, obviously looking for him.

“Ah, señor Red,” she said, smiling when she saw him.

“Carmen. Sit yourself down, sweetheart.”

She sat opposite him. She was wearing a very low-cut peasant blouse and was giving him a good look at her swollen breasts. Her nipples were pressing against the blouse.

“I wanted to tell you how happy I was that you are back, señor Red, but last night…well, last night Rosa was there, too.”

“I thought you two were friends.”

“Oh, we are friends,” she said, “very good friends, señor Red—but even with a friend one does not wish to share a man such as yourself.”

Moran smiled.

“I know what you mean,” he said. “You’re both beautiful, but being in bed with both of you a man doesn’t know where to look first.”

“And so?” she said, grinning. “Now that we are alone, you would know where to look?”

“I would know where to look,” he said, leaning forward, peering down her blouse, “and where to touch.”

“Are you…finished eating, señor Red?”

“I am finished, Carmen.”

They both stood up and walked up to his room together.

The bartender was clearing the table when Rosa came storming in.

“Raul, have you seen Rosa?”

“Si.”

“Where?”

The bartender simply looked up at Moran’s room and continued clearing the table.

“Puta!” Rosa snapped, which was an odd thing for a whore to call a whore.

She stormed up the stairs angrily, vowing to pull Carmen’s hair out by the roots for trying to get more of Red Moran’s money for herself.

The bartender paused long enough to watch her climb the steps, skirt swirling around her marvellous calves, and then went into the kitchen. From there, he would not hear the noise when the two cats began to fight over the mouse.

Gilberto Diaz, Raquel and their men were riding to Gilberto’s town at a fairly leisurely pace.

“I hope Ramon has Juanita cook up a big batch of tortillas,” Gilberto said to Raquel.

“That is all she is good for, that one,” Raquel said. “Cooking.”

“That is all she is good for as far as you are concerned,” Gilberto said, smiling. “I can find other uses for little Juanita.”

“She is fat,” Raquel spat, “like a cow.”

“She is a comfortable woman, that one. Teats like pillows, and thighs like—”

“I do not wish to hear this!” Raquel snapped.

“And you?” he asked. “Will you let a man come near you and touch you?”

“When I find a man who deserves me.”

“Hah! With the high opinion you have of yourself, you would think you were a queen.”

“I am a queen,” she said, raising her chin. “Queen of the bandidos.”

“I am the king of the bandidos,” Gilberto pointed out, and you are my sister. That does not make you a queen, mi hermana.”

“To be your queen a woman would have to be married to you,” Raquel said, “and I would not wish that on any woman.”

Gilberto threw his sister an admiring glance. She had proud firm breasts and long legs. If she were not his sister…and perhaps, soon, that would not be enough to matter.

But now, his thoughts were of Juanita.

“My little Juanita will have a feast for me,” he said with a leer.

Raquel looked at her brother and thought brutally, I hope she bits your cojones off!