Christie And The Hellcat Part 13

"And I'll see where the rest of the gang are. My guess is the church . . . It's the only building that still has a halfway decent roof."

She set off, flitting from shrub to cactus whenever the lookouts'

attention was engaged elsewhere and glancing round occasionally to check on the progress of her two companions.

A twig cracked beneath the sole of Fred's shoe, and he froze. For a tense moment, Zee wasn't sure if the lookouts had heard or not.

When they didn't deviate from their routine, she released her breath.

"Younger's gonna get us all killed," she murmured to Hogan, when he joined her in the shadow of a bushy palo verde tree.

"What do you suggest? We tie him to his horse?"

"Don't tempt me."

Fred scuttled up to them, breathing hard.

"Stay here," she told him.

"But"

"I said stay here." To Hogan, she muttered, "We'll reconnoiter, then meet back here in . . . quarter of an hour?" He nodded and wormed off into the darkness.

Zee took a breath, hefted her rifle into a more comfortable grip, then scuttled toward one of the larger gaps in the wall. She waited for the lookouts to pa.s.s, eased through, and headed past the priest's dilapidated living quarters, which as she had thought were unoccupied, toward the church.

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Lantern light spilled out of the huge arched doorway, and from the interior came laughter and talk. She blinked in surprise. Sounds like they've got women with them.

A fat man in a black shirt appeared in the doorway, and Zee ducked deeper into the shadows. She watched him stretch, scratch his belly and stare up at the night sky. He rolled a cigarette and lit it. She schooled herself to patience. At last, the man threw down the b.u.t.t and went back inside.

She crept to the now empty doorway and peered inside, then ducked back. The single glance had been enough. Quickly she headed back the way she had come, pausing until the lookouts had paced past, then arrowing toward the palo verde tree that was the rendezvous.

Hogan was waiting for her. There was no sign of Fred.

"Before you ask," he said. "I ain't got the faintest idea where Younger is. I've only just got back."

"d.a.m.n!" The moon was almost full, but even so, tracking Fred would be difficult; besides they were running out of time. "What did you find?"

"Twelve horsestwo for the wagon. Three lookouts guarding the loot."

Zee pursed her lips. "Well, the rest of the gang is in the church.

And it looks like they've settled in for the night. Got a nice fire going, and a couple of women cooking for them. Probably not all they do."

"Wh.o.r.es?" asked Hogan.

"That'd be my guess."

"Hm. All the comforts of home."

"So, what do you reckon?"

Before he could reply, a man's voice boomed out of the darkness.

"If you don't want your dandified friend to get hurt, come out where I can see you." There was something oddly familiar about the voice, but Zee couldn't place it.

"Dang it!" hissed Hogan. "I knew he'd be trouble."

"I'm not joking," came the voice again. "You don't show yourselves sharpish, your friend here will be dog meat."

A dull thud was followed by Fred's panicky wail. "Don't hit me.

Please . . . Hogan. Brodie. Do as he says."

"Sonofab.i.t.c.h!" said Zee. "He's just told them how many we are

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and who we are too." To her irritation, the ident.i.ty of the voice's owner still eluded her.

"I've half a mind to let Younger take what's coming to him," said Hogan.

The missing piece slotted into place. "It's Tucson Pete." She chewed the inside of her lip then turned to face Hogan. "Do you trust me?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"Then unbuckle your gun belt and give it to me."

After a moment's hesitation, he did as she asked. She, meanwhile, was unpinning her tin star and tucking it in her vest pocket.

"Lord knows, Brodie, if you double-cross me . . ."

She ignored the grumbled threat, took the gun belt from Hogan, and looped it over her shoulder. "Turn around." He did so, and she stuck her rifle muzzle in his back.

"Mind the waistcoat. Cost me plenty."

"Quit moaning. If I don't do this, your fancy vest will get shot full of holes for sure."

"Might happen anyway."

"Might," she agreed. "But I'm betting not."

"Some bet!"

Her patience was at an end. "This is our only chance, Hogan.

Now, move." She prodded him forward and stepped toward the voice.

Chapter 16.

Christie had never felt so superfluous. Every woman in Angie's Palace except her, it seemed, was occupied.

If they weren't "working" upstairs, they were singing along to the player piano (If she heard "Oh, Susanna" one more time, she was going to scream), or dancing (Nellie the Fox did a wonderful flamen-co), or serving drinks, or dealing Lasconette or Monte or some of the other card games she had never heard of let alone played. It didn't help that, every time Christie was in earshot, Red Mary would wonder loudly and pointedly what on earth Brodie saw in such a "useless little chit" of a girl.

The fact that night had fallen and Zee still was not back wasn't helping Christie's mood either, nor was her worry about what Fred might decide to do.

"Cheer up. It might never happen." Rowdy Molly was smiling at her.

It already has.

"Oh, Susanna" started up again.

"That does it." Teeth gritted, Christie stamped over to the player piano and dragged Serena from the piano stool. As the startled wh.o.r.e's feet left the pedals, the music died, so did the chatter. Every head in the place swiveled to regard her.

"Hey!" yelled Red Mary. "Leave Serena alone. What do you think you're playing at?"

Christie tossed her head, smoothed her dress over her rump, and sat down. "I'm playing this." She pulled the lever that turned off the automatic mechanism, then flexed her fingers and positioned them over the keys.

She had played for her own family and for Fred, but the size and

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composition of this particular audience was daunting. At first, she fumbled the notes, but she soon got into her stride.

Her own repertoire was limited of course, and she'd discounted many pieces as being unsuitable, but that still left plenty of up-tempo numbers. She chose "Buffalo Gals." After a moment, one of the clients began to stamp his feet in time, and Diamond Dust Kate began to clap. Next, two of the girls began to dance together, laughing as they careered up and down the salon, whirling in and out of the card tables and round the chaise longues and sofas.

Our of the corner of her eye, Christie saw Angie come out of her office to see what was going on, smile benevolently, and disappear again.

Thank the Lord for that. She relaxed and began to enjoy herself.

At the end of "Buffalo Gals," she moved on to "Weevily Wheat,"

and after that to "Skip to my Lou." Then she took pity on the by now flagging dancers and slowed the tempo with "When the Swallows Homeward Fly." She had learned these tunes at her mother's knee, and she smiled sadly. Emily Hayes would never in a million years have pictured her daughter playing them under such circ.u.mstances and to such people.

Christie had been playing for half an hour when a hand on her shoulder made her look round. Angie was smiling down at her. "Time for a breather, Christie," she said. "You've earned it. Besides. It's supper time."

With a flourish, she ended her current tune and stood up. The girls (and some of the clients) crowded round her, offering congratulations and praise. Only Red Mary remained aloof, a sour expression spoil-ing her looks. Christie blushed and smiled and hoped Zee would be proud of her when she learned how successful her efforts to fit in had been.

Over suppera cold collation of salt pork and potato salad, which was served at a much later hour than Christie was used toshe realized she had yet another skill to offer. The food was tasteless, and she resolved to give Angie's cook (a rather doleful woman named Hattie) a few tips regarding spices.

Some time later, when she was resting after playing the piano for another half hour (the women were quite giddy at the novelty of fresh tunes), she saw Lazy Alice putting pen to paper in a corner and went to offer her help. The little wh.o.r.e was barely literate and 86 was struggling to write a letter to her mother. Christie was pleased to be able to offer suggestions and then write the final draft in her elegant hand.

The result brought a beaming smile to Alice's battered face.

"Thank you, Miss Hayes."

Christie smiled in genuine pleasure. "You're very welcome."

Then, of course, other wh.o.r.es noticed and came to her with their own writing requests.

Chapter 17.

"We're coming out," called Zee. "Don't shoot." Hogan moved out from behind the palo verde tree and she followed.

Moonlight illuminated a stark tableau: Fred was on his knees in the dirt, kept there by a tall man in shabby, fringed buckskins, who had twisted the prisoner's arm high up behind his back. More critical from Zee's point of view was the c.o.c.ked six-gun he was holding to Fred's temple.

Buckskin laughed. "Well, if it ain't the h.e.l.lcat."

"Howdy, Pete," said Zee. "It's been a while. So you're working for the Cody brothers these days, huh?" She inclined her head toward Fred. "That ain't necessary. As you can see." She prodded Hogan with her rifle and he grunted.

"You expect me to believe you're turning outlaw again?" Pete's tone was skeptical. He jerked his prisoner's arm higher, and Fred whimpered. She pretended not to notice.

"Shipment of silver, thirteen thousand dollars in government bonds, and ten thousand dollars in cash. It's a powerful incentive.

Figured you'd cut me in if I had me a bargaining tool."

Her old colleague raised an eyebrow. "And that would be?"