Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66] (40 page)

“Are you tired, honey?”

“I’m too keyed up to be tired. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. Alvin and Grace know how to put on a party.”

“I didn’t expect to get a ring. I thought maybe sometime later I’d get one.”

“That ring tells the world that you’re mine. I wish it had a diamond as big as a hen’s egg.”

“I don’t. I’d feel silly trying to do the dishes with a stone as big as a hen’s egg on my finger.”

When they reached the motor court, Brady noticed that all six cabins were occupied. He unlocked the door to theirs and then swung Margie up in his arms and carried her into the dark room. He kicked the door closed and kissed her before he set her on her feet. She was trembling. Brady held her for a while, then moved away, switched on the light and lowered the window shades.

“You’re trembling, honey. Are you scared of me?”

“I’m just … excited.”

“Go get ready.” He pushed her gently toward the bathroom. “Is there anything in here you need?”

She shook her head. “Brady?” she said before she closed the door. “Have you done this many times before?”

“A few, but not with someone I love. That’s altogether different. It’s the love we share that will make it so special.”

Brady began to undress but kept his trousers on. His arousal was embarrassing to him, and he feared for his bride to see it.

Lord, help me to go slow and not rush to completion. This first time for her will set the tone for our mating from now on.

He turned off the light. Standing in the nearly pitch-dark room, the only light coming through the cracks around the bathroom door, Brady felt not only a strong sexual desire for his wife, but a strange fear that he wouldn’t be able to make it a pleasant experience for her. He was awed by the responsibility of introducing her to the way a man loved a woman with his body.

The door opened, making a path of light that spread out into the room. Margie came out carrying her dress and draped it over the back of a chair. Brady stood beside the bed.

“Let me look at you.” His hands grasped her shoulders, his eyes boldly sweeping over her. He could see the rosy tips of her breasts through the lace bodice of her gown. “Ah … honey, no man ever had a prettier or sweeter bride.” His voice was low, husky, and trembled with emotion.

He pulled her to him. Her arms encircled him and caressed the smooth skin of his back. He felt so good. His scent was all male, fresh and clean. His chest was warm, and she could feel the heavy beat of his heart. His arms held her tightly before he bent and pulled back the sheet on the bed.

“Get in, darlin’. I’ll be right back.” Brady used the bathroom, and when he came out, he left the door ajar and went to sit on the side of the bed. He bent down to kiss her. “I want you naked in my arms.”

“Did I waste my money on this nightgown?” She giggled happily, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down until their lips were touching.

The door burst open.

Brady had no time to lift his head or turn before the barrel of a gun was pressed against it. Margie let out a little cry of alarm. In the light coming from the bathroom she saw the menacing figure of a man looming over them and the gun held to Brady’s head. Brady threw up an arm. The man with the gun backed away.

“Close the door and turn on the light, little pussy. I want the cowboy and the bitch to see who’s come callin’. What we’ve got here is a bride and groom gettin’ ready to do the nasty. I’ll just help ’em out a little—show ’em how it’s done.”

The light came on. Brady blinked once, then fixed his gaze on the woman leaning against the door. Sugar smiled and pursed her lips in the form of a kiss. It took Brady a little longer to recognize the man. When he did, his lips curled in a sneer, but he said nothing.

“Ain’t ya got nothin’ to say, cowboy?”

“Can’t think of anything,” Brady said easily.

“You will. Get up, slut. I want to see yore titties, and I just might make you lick my arm where ya shot me.”

“Stay where you are, honey.”

“I guess ya don’t know who has the upper hand here.”

“Yeah, I do. A cocky little shithead who thinks he’s a man because he’s got a gun in his hand.”

The barrel of the gun shifted to point down at Margie’s face. Homer grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

“Turn around, cowboy, or I’ll splatter her brains all over the pillow and screw her corpse.”

Sugar stood beside the closed door, her face hard. Brady turned. His eyes caught Margie’s, and he nodded slightly. She got out of bed and took a step toward him.

“Stay back,” Homer yelled. “Stay back or I’ll shoot him.”

Margie stopped, looked at Sugar and, taking a cue from Brady, said calmly, “Hello, Sugar. Nice to see you.”

Sugar laughed. “I just bet ya are, Miss Prissy Ass.”

“Come here, pussy. Take the gun, and if this big, brave cowboy moves a muscle, shoot him.” Homer pulled out a knife with a long thin blade. He jerked Margie to him, wrapped his arm around her waist and placed the blade at her throat. “All right, cowboy, turn around. I want you to enjoy this. Make just one little move, and I’ll slit her throat.” He pressed the blade to make a small cut. Margie closed her eyes but didn’t let out a sound.

“What do you want?” Brady demanded.

“It’s payback time, cowboy. Remember the fire stick ya were goin’ to shove up my ass? Well, I got somethin’ to shove up the ass of the bitch who shot me.”

“You followed us all the way from Oklahoma. Slashed my tires and tried to burn my car.”

“And a good time I had doin’ it—especially since I met a bitch who likes her pussy scratched five times a day and six times on Sunday.” He flicked his eyes to Sugar and laughed. “Ain’t that right, sweet thin’?”

“Get on with it, Homer. We’ve not got all day.”

“See what I mean?” He bit on Margie’s earlobe. “My whore’s wantin’ her poontang.”

Things came to Brady’s mind to say, but he choked them back and spoke calmly.

“Let her go. I’m the one you want to get even with.”

“And I’m a-doin’ it. If ya ain’t noticed, I can give her another little nick with this knife.”

Brady knew he had to be careful if he and Margie were going to get out of this alive. He had underestimated the disgusting, smart-mouthed robber back at the campground in Oklahoma. He was like a vicious little viper, unpredictable and deadly.

“Get the bitch’s stocking and tie his hands behind his back. He ain’t goin’ to do nothin’. He knows that one swipe of the knife will give his bride a new mouth, right here under her chin.” He nicked the skin on Margie’s neck again, drawing a trickle of blood.

Sugar yanked the silk stocking off the back of the chair and moved behind Brady. If he’d had a thought that she had been forced into helping Homer against her will, he was soon rid of it. She seemed to take pleasure in tying him as tightly as she could.

His bright eyes on Brady, Homer put his free hand inside the neck of Margie’s gown and ripped the lace to expose her breasts. He rubbed a palm over them, pinched and pulled at the nipples.

“She got nice high titties, cowboy. Nipples is good size for suckin’. Take a look. These titties ain’t never goin’ to get a chance to get flat and ugly.”

Margie’s eyes pleaded with Brady to say nothing. He clamped his mouth shut on the rage that threatened to burn out of control.

“Have ya busted into her yet, cowboy? I bet ya ain’t. Doggie! I got here in time. I figured her as one of them women that’s got to have a ring on her finger or she ain’t givin’ out no pussy.”

Brady’s rage was so evident Margie feared he would do something that would cause Sugar to shoot him.

“Get somethin’ to stuff in her mouth. She’s goin’ to be yellin’ before I’m through with her.” Homer, not much taller than Margie, rubbed his erection against her buttocks. “Feel that, bitch? I’m going to shove it up yore ass!”

“Goddamn you!” Brady’s shout filled the room. “Get away from her.” His control broke, and he took a step forward. “Cut her again and I’ll kill you!”

For a second Homer’s bravado left him. “Shoot the son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Shoot him!”

Suddenly the door was flung open so hard it bounced against the wall.

Harry Wills stood there with a gun in his hand. Alvin was behind him.

“Let the girl go.”

Homer’s back was to the door. He turned, dragging Margie with him, and lifted his arm to throw the knife. In the seconds that followed, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Sugar, seeing the gun pointed at Homer, forgot about the gun in her own hand.

“No!” she shouted, and lunged in front of Homer just as Harry fired. The sound of the shot filled the small room. Blood sprayed, covering her neck and chest. She was thrown back against Homer, then crumpled to the floor.

Homer dropped the knife to grab for the gun when it fell from Sugar’s hand. Brady’s foot caught him under the chin, sending him crashing against the wall. Then Brady was on him lightning-fast, one foot on his arm, the other on his neck, holding him to the floor, where he squirmed like a poisonous little snake.

Horrified, Margie stood with her hands to her ears, her eyes wide with fear. She came out of her shock when Alvin draped Brady’s shirt around her, then knelt on the floor beside Sugar. Her eyes were open and staring. There was no doubt that she was dead.

Harry, as calmly as if this were an everyday occurrence for him, picked up Homer’s knife and sawed through the stocking that bound Brady’s hands; then he squatted down and put the tip of it in Homer’s ear.

“Are ya wantin’ to live, or do I shove this knife in and tickle that rotten brain of yores?” Homer blinked his eyes rapidly. “Well, shucks. I was hopin’ ya’d be contrary. Put yore hands behind yore back, ya sorry, sneakin’ little bastard. Tie him with that other stockin’, Alvin. Then yank off his belt and bind his feet.”

People from the other cabins who had heard the commotion filled the doorway. They stared at the dead woman on the floor, at the cursing, spitting man being hog-tied and at the barefoot girl in the torn white nightgown.

“Someone call the police.” Brady’s arms were around Margie. He dabbed at the trickles of blood on her neck with the sleeve of his shirt.

“We already have.”

“Are you all right, honey? Oh, God. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. I wanted to kill that vicious bastard. I wanted to stomp his guts out.”

“I’m all … right … or will be in a minute. Go on and do what you have to do. I’ll just sit down here.”

“Get a wet cloth.” Brady tossed the order over his shoulder, and in moments a wet towel was placed in his hand. He put it gently against the cuts on Margie’s neck and eased her down on the edge of the bed.

“I guess I’d better go get Foley.” Alvin stood close and spoke quietly to Brady. “She’s still his wife. He’ll have to bury her.”

“I’m sure glad you came in when you did. I was just about to do something that more than likely would have got us both killed.”

“Save your thanks for Harry.”

Brady glanced down at the dead woman and then at Homer Persy sitting on the floor.

“You slimy piece of no-good shit. You got that woman killed.”

“Hell, I didn’t pull the trigger. He did.” He jerked his head toward Harry, who was squatting on the floor beside him.

Harry looked up at Brady. “He’s low-caliber. I been watchin’ him behind us for three days. He wasn’t even smart enough to hang back when we came into the campground. I figured he was after one of us—thought it was me. I’ve put away a few of his kind in my day.”

“Yeah,” Homer sneered. “I might be low-caliber, but I ain’t never killed no woman, not even a slut like her.”

“The woman saved your miserable life,” Brady gritted.

“I never asked her to.” He grinned cockily. “She was protectin’ her stud. She’d hardly give me time to get my pants down.”

“Shut your foul mouth! I’d like to be alone with you for just ten—”

“All right. What happened here?” A man with a star on his chest stepped in through the open door, his voice loud with authority.

Chapter 31

M
ARGIE WAS ALMOST SURE THAT NO WOMAN
ever had or wanted a wedding night like the one she’d had. After she had dressed, she and Brady packed up and left the cabin where they had come so close to losing their lives. He took her back to the campground so that she would be among friends while he and Harry Wills explained to the county and state police what had happened.

Foley had come to claim the body of his wife and, tight-lipped and grim, had sent it away with the funeral director to be prepared for burial. He had been shocked speechless when he saw her and realized that she had taken up with one of the men who would have robbed them in Oklahoma.

It was after midnight when Brady and Harry Wills returned. Harry went first to check on his wife and brought her, wrapped in an old housecoat, to the Putman camp, where they had all gathered and were talking in hushed tones.

The police had received a report that a Ford coupe had been reported stolen in Oklahoma and was possibly on Route 66 headed for California. A registration inside Homer’s car was that of the stolen car.

Empty billfolds and purses in the car, along with nearly five hundred dollars taken from Homer Persy, led the police to believe the couple had been on a robbery spree. Evidence was also found to connect the body found in a ditch outside Amarillo to Homer. He was charged with the murder of his Uncle Chester.

Harry explained that he had been a lawman for fifteen years; but after he had married, his wife worried every time he left the house, and because her peace of mind was important to him, he had turned in his badge. He had been aware for three days that the Ford coupe was following, and when it circled the campground, he noticed that the two inside the car seemed unduly interested in the caravan. Uneasy and suspicious, he nosed around and discovered that the same car was parked next to the cabin Brady had rented for the night.

On a hunch Harry spoke to Alvin, and the two of them had walked down to the motor court. It had not occurred to Harry that whoever was in the car was trailing Brady. He had made many enemies among the lawless and thought he was the one they were following. His intention had been to find out who was pursuing him and why.