Christie And The Hellcat Part 14

"Hostages and information." She gave him a slow smile. "The one ain't much use without the other."

Pete looked thoughtful. "Makes sense. But I ain't the boss of this outfit, h.e.l.lcat. You need to talk to John Cody."

She shrugged. "Then lead me to him."

After a moment that seemed to stretch for forever, Pete unc.o.c.ked his gun and dragged Fred to his feet. "Come on, hero." His tone was sarcastic. "Let's go for a walk."

It was a strange procession that made its way inside the mission 88 compound past the startled lookouts. Tucson Pete led the way, dragging Fred with him. Next came Hogan, and behind him, her rifle muzzle still jammed between his shoulder blades, came Zee. Boots crunched over dust and grit, then they were entering the arched doorway where earlier the fat man had smoked his cigarette.

She took in her surroundings quickly, noting that nothing much had changed since she had last used the church as a hiding place.

Round the fire, in the spot where the altar used to be, lounged seven men and two sorry-looking women.

Zee found herself at the center of a circle of gun muzzles. She wasn't impressed. Their reaction times had been lousy. An opened beer barrel probably had something to do with that. Or maybe they were just lousy gunmen.

She smiled, knowing her bargaining power had just gone up, and allowed herself to be relieved of her rifle and two Colts. She still had a knife hidden in her boot, after all.

Tucson Pete sat Fred next to the fire with a thump, then turned to address a bear of a man with long grizzled hair and an unkempt beard. He had been watching events unfold with keen eyes, and was clearly the man in charge.

"Mr. Cody," said Pete, his tone respectful. "We got us a visitor."

He gestured at Zee. "h.e.l.lcat meet John Cody."

"Howdy," said Zee.

The gang leader didn't reply. He blinked coldly at her then beckoned Pete over. Pete obliged, and the two men fell into muttered discussion, interspersed with occasional glances and gestures at Zee and Hogan.

At last, Cody turned to study her. "Pete thinks you're all right, h.e.l.lcat. But I need to know why I should even consider taking you on."

Zee smiled. "Because I can outshoot any man here . . . even Tucson Pete." The buckskin clad man acknowledged her remark with a wry nod. "And because I bring collateral."

Cody stroked his beard. "I'll admit, your guns could come in handy. As for the hostages . . . Well, Cole Hogan I can use. The next posse on our trail will think twice about an ambush if we have the Cochise County Sheriff with us. But as for the other one . . ." He gestured dismissively. "Might as well shoot him."

Fred squeaked in protest, and one of the gang cuffed him into silence.

89.

"Ah, but that's where my information comes in handy," said Zee.

Cody tilted his head.

"That's Fred Younger." A blank look. "I know he don't look like much right now"that was something of an understatement; Fred's once smart shirt and trousers were dust-streaked and torn"but his Pa owns the Contention Ore Mill." Another blank look. She suppressed a sigh. "It was his shipment of silver you took." Cody's eyes began to gleam. "Very wealthy family, the Youngers," she said for good measure.

Cody turned to regard Fred, and Zee knew she had bought the man with the Vand.y.k.e beard a little time if nothing else.

"All right," said Cody. "That piece of information I can use." He turned back to her. "But I'm still not sure about you, h.e.l.lcat. I heard you'd got yourself a pardon, gone straight." He pursed his lips. "You expect me to believe you'd give all that up for money?"

"Frankly, Mr. Cody, I got bored. Ain't much excitement to be had locking up the town drunk night after night," she drawled. "And there are other things than money. Right now, for example, I've got an itch needs scratching, and," she gave the wh.o.r.es a lascivious grin, "I couldn't help noticing, you have just the ointment I need."

It took a moment for Cody to catch on, then he followed her gaze toward the women and began to chuckle. He turned to Tucson Pete.

"You said the h.e.l.lcat liked the ladies, Pete. Looks like you were right."

He slapped his thigh then and roared with laughter. Some of his men joined in. "All right." Cody paused then nodded and held out one meaty hand.

Zee shook it, let him outgrip her, and pretended to shake the pain from her fingers.

Laughing again, Cody turned and called out, "Happy." A man with a doleful face looked up. "Fetch the h.e.l.lcat's horses and put them in the corral." He smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Want to tell Happy where they are?"

There was no way out that she could see, so she gave the man directions. "Much obliged," she told Cody, playing along. She knew he planned to keep her horses for himself, and he knew she knew.

He nodded, then called out, "Frank." This time, the man who looked up appeared to be a younger version of Cody himself. "Tie up the prisoners and keep an eye on them."

90.

Frank nodded and dragged a subdued Fred to the corner of the ruined church, where he roped him like a steer. Then he came back for Hogan, and did likewisebut not before Zee had exchanged a covert glance with her boss that promised this indignity would be only temporary.

Cody, in the meantime, had resumed his seat by the fire, and was beckoning Zee to join him. Obediently, she took her place beside him. He signaled to one of the women. "Get our latest recruit some coffee."

Zee accepted the tin cup full of black sludge and forced a smile. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 18.

A dejected Christie placed the lamp on Zee's dresser, drew the curtains, and sat on the narrow bed. In the salon downstairs, surrounded by music and gaiety, and pestered by women wanting her to play the piano or write letters, she had been kept too busy to think.

But now . . .

Half of them want Zee. Some are real beauties. Others are spirited, independent. All are worldly-wise . . . What in the world does she see in me?

The silence pressed in on her. At least it was better than those sor-did noises. They'd probably start up again soon, and she could expect little sleep before dawn, when the wh.o.r.es stopped work.

It dawned on her that she had no night attire and would have to sleep in the clothes she was wearing. Perfect!

A knock at the door jarred her from her despondency. "Yes?"

"Christie." It was Madam Angie's voice. "May I come in?"

"Of course." Nervously, she stood and smoothed her dress.

The door opened and Angie came in. "Brodie said you'd need this." She held out a nightgownplain but serviceable.

Christie exclaimed, both at the nightgown and at Zee's thoughtfulness. Then Angie held out something else.

She frowned at the wad of cotton wool. "I beg your pardon, but what?"

"Pack some into your ears before you go to sleep."

Christie blinked. "Why should I wish to do such a thing?"

Angie gave her an arched look.

Then she had it. "Oh!" The tips of her ears felt as red as her cheeks.

"You really are delightful, my dear. Such an innocent!"

92.

Angie's comments struck a nerve, and Christie flushed and turned away.

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry if I offended you." The madam sounded uncharacteristically chastened.

"It's not that." Christie sighed.

"No?"

"No. You just reminded me how impossible all this is." She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands.

"This?"

"Me and Zee. Red Mary is right."

The mattress sagged as Angie sat next to her. "Enlighten me, dear."

Suspecting ridicule, Christie glared at Angie, but found nothing but interest and sympathy in her gaze.

"As you so accurately detected," she began, slightly bitterly, "I am," she blushed, "inexperienced in the ways of the world."

Angie pulled a little clay pipe from the pocket of her Turkish jack-et. "May I?" she asked.

"Er . . . Please do." Christie watched as Angie packed the pipe bowl with tobacco from a small pouch, lit it, and puffed to get it burning properly. "Red Mary asked what Zee can possibly see in a useless little chit like me. More and more, I'm wondering that same thing myself." She raised her hands then dropped them into her lap.

"It was crazy of me to come. What was I thinking?"

A long silence followed and both women watched the fragrant clouds of smoke drift toward the ceiling.

"You followed your heart," said Angie at last. "You're here because not only does Brodie think you're special, you are special."

"That's the last thing I am."

Angie shook her head. "Not to Brodie. I think she sees something in you she hasn't seen in anyone since Molly."

"Rowdy Molly?"

Angie laughed. "No. Though Molly Hart was rowdy, by all accounts. Brodie's Molly went by the name of Molly Purple. Worked out of Madam Miller's place over in Tucson."

"Oh." Christie digested this new information.

"They were close for quite a while. Then Molly died of the cholera."

"Oh."

93.

Angie gave her an appraising look. "She looked something like you: short, blonde, nice figure."

Christie's depression returned twofold. "So, you think that's why?

Because I remind her of Molly Purple?"

"Lord save us, girl!" Angie shook her head in exasperation.

"There's more to Brodie than that. And if you don't know that by now, then you certainly don't belong here."

Christie ducked her head in shame. "I do know," she admitted. "I just . . . forgot it for a little."

"When she came back here after that trip to Yuma," continued Angie, as though Christie hadn't spoken, "you were all she could talk about."