he was waiting for.
He said, “I ain’t waiting for anything. I’m trying to figure out what you want me to do.”
“You’ve been in here almost an hour. They’ve only heard the piano play a few bars, quite a while ago. Would that sound like a music lesson to you, if you were an old biddy hen?”
He said he doubted it and, grasping her intent at last, got aboard the piano with her. The hard, slippery surface felt odd against his bare flesh. It felt even odder, albeit good, when he mounted her big, soft body again and she raised her hands over her head to reach down to the keyboard and moan, “Faster!” as she proceeded to play “Kitten on the Keys.”
He laughed like hell and did his best to keep in time with her as she tinkled and bounced her bare bottom at the same time. He hoped her nosy neighbors thought she had a big bass drum in here as well, for it sure sounded like it.
After climaxing again together in such an artistic fashion, they both lay quietly in each other’s arms for a spell. Then she sighed and said, “That was lovely. But it’s getting late, darling. They have to see you leaving before suppertime.”
He’d been hoping against hope she was going to let him escape without the tears and recriminations a man who enjoyed life just had to accept with the nicer words of womankind. So he kissed her fondly and said, “Yeah, we wouldn’t want ‘em to think we’ve been nibbling on each other.”
She laughed low and dirty, but shoved him off, and damned near broke his neck as he rolled off the piano as well.
It only took her a moment to climb back into her kimono. As she sat on the sofa beside him, watching him dress, she sighed and told him, “Lord have mercy, but we can’t go on like this, Custis.”
He hadn’t been planning to, but he thought it only decent to look wistful and say, “I know. I ought to be whipped with snakes for taking advantage of a sweet little helpless thing like you.”
She nodded. “I don’t think any of the bruises will show, but you’re right. I just can’t resist you. That’s why you’re going to have to be brave for both of us, darling.”
He tried to sound heartbroken as he asked, “Does that mean you don’t want me coming back no more, Miss Mavis?”
She said, “I want you so bad I can taste it, even after coming all those times just now. But I have to consider my good name, and you know how everyone gossips about a divorced woman.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it seems mean as hell. For it only stands to reason most married gals get screwed more regular than even the wildest divorcee.”
“You don’t know how true that is, darling. You may have noticed I was feeling sort of frustrated when you surprised me this afternoon. You can’t do that again. People are sure to talk as it is. But I’ve an idea. Where will you be going when you leave here?”
“I ain’t sure. You sort of surprised me, too. I had a doctor I wanted to consult about demented hookworms and the public library might have more than a song about Black Jack Slade on hand. But they’d both be closed by the time I could get to either, now. So I reckon I’ll have me some supper and just prowl about some more.”
“Oh, I was thinking, if you knew a very, very discreet little love nest we could sort of get to separately and discreet…”
“I’d sure like that,” he lied, “but I’m on the trail of a mad-dog killer and he just showed me there’s no place in town that’s safe. I dare not risk your pretty hide, Miss Mavis. My own could be in enough trouble if he spots me before I spot him again.”
He got to his feet, buckling his gun rig, and put on his hat to leave. As he did so she rose beside him, grabbed him around the waist, and hugged him close as she said, “Oh, dear, if you’re really in that much danger you’d better stay here after all. I’d rather risk my reputation than let you risk your life, you sweet man.”
“That would be wrong for both of us, little darling,” he told her. “No man who has to look at his fool self in the mirror when he’s shaving could ask a lady to get ruined for him. And, besides, I don’t see how I’d ever catch that killer under your piano. So I’d best get it on down the road.”
As he was leaving she coyly suggested her bed might not be too improper a place to explore, after dark. But he left anyway, before she could set a date for his next music lesson.
As he moved on down the avenue under the shade trees, a little old lady wearing a sunbonnet was sweeping her front walk. When he ticked his hatbrim at her, she smiled and said, “Isn’t it nice out this evening, now that it’s started to cool off?”
He smiled back and said, “Yes, ma’am. It sure is a lot cooler than it was just a short spell ago.”
The Denver Public Library wasn’t the only place in town a man could find a book. A little used bookstore on Larimer was open despite the hour. It smelled dusty inside. A little bearded gent wearing specs and a skullcap came out from the back to ask what he could do for the only customer in sight.
Longarm said, “I see you mostly sell regular books, and I don’t blame you. But I’m looking for a Wild West magazine about a real albeit unlikely gent named Black Jack Slade.”
The old book dealer looked pained. “Books about how to build a steam engine or rescue a maiden from a dragon are not good enough for you? We got books of fact and fiction. We got books old and new. We got books by Sir Walter Scott and books by authors nobody ever heard of and probably shouldn’t. But a book about a blackjack? I don’t think so.”
Longarm said he was sorry for being such a pest and turned to go. But the old man stopped him. “Wait. You say you want a penny dreadful? Them we got. Come, I’ll show you. We got a couple of boxes of such trash as part of a house-cleaning sale a few days ago. I was saving them for the rag picker, but who knows?”
Longarm followed the old man back through the musty racks, then through a curtained doorway into pitch
