The Lady Doctor's Alibi (3 page)

 

When they went outside, they drew a few looks from people on the street, but Clint put it down to Lissa’s beauty.

“People are looking at you, too, you know,” she said as they climbed into her buggy.

“No,” he said, “they’re looking at you.”

She smiled, brightened, and said, “Maybe we just make a striking couple.”

“That could be it,” he said.

She got her horse going, turned him, and headed up the street at a trot, expertly avoiding other wagons along the way.

“But you are the Gunsmith,” she said. “Don’t people recognize you on the street?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I was just hoping that wouldn’t happen as often down here.”

“Have you been to Veracruz before?”

“A long time ago.”

She was about to ask another question when she noticed some commotion up ahead.

“Looks like an accident,” she said.

Clint saw that two wagons had apparently collided. One was lying over on its side, and there seemed to be people injured.

Lissa pulled her buggy over to the side and dropped down to the ground, shouting at Clint, “Bring my bag!”

Clint reached the scene, carrying Lissa’s bag. He noticed she had already hiked up her skirt and gotten down on her knees next to a couple of injured kids.

“What happened?” she asked a woman who must have been their mother.

“They were crossing the street when this runaway wagon came along,” the mother said.

“It hit them?”

“No,” the mother said, “another wagon tried to avoid the runaway, and that one ran over my children. Oh God, are they all right?”

“I don’t know yet, ma’am,” Lissa said. She looked up and reached out to Clint. “My bag!”

He hurriedly handed her the bag.

“Can I do anything else?” he asked.

“Just keep the people back.”

He looked around and saw, on the other side of the wagon, that Dr. Graham was treating some people. He wondered why that doctor had not gone first to the children.

Behind Graham stood his wife, Lillian, and when she noticed Clint and Lissa, she shouted, “What is she doing here?”

“She’s trying to help people!” Clint shouted back.

The woman gave him a stern look.

“She doesn’t belong here!” she snapped.

“Why don’t you shut up and help your husband,” Clint said.

She jerked back as if he had slapped her, then bent to shout at her husband.

“Did you hear what this man said—”

“Lillian,” Dr. Graham shouted, “if you’re not going to help, then you
should
shut up and stand back.”

Suddenly, Clint felt some respect for the doctor.

Graham abruptly looked up at him and asked, “Can you help? This man is pinned.”

“Do you need me, Lissa?” he asked. “I think I can help on the other side.”

“Go ahead,” she said without looking up.

Clint stepped to Graham’s side and saw that the man he was working on was pinned by the legs. There were no lawmen around, and bystanders were just gawking.

“These people are just staring,” Graham said to Clint. “Can you get some men to help you lift the wagon so I can get this man out from beneath it?”

“Done,” Clint said. He turned and didn’t ask. “You, you, and you, big man, come on. Help me lift this wagon.”

The big man was about six and a half feet tall and did most of the work himself. They got the wagon up off the man’s legs and Dr. Graham pulled him out.

“Clear!” he said.

They dropped the wagon back to the ground.

Now it was in the hands of both doctors. Clint saw that there were two more injured men, presumably the two drivers. They were both standing off to one side, each holding themselves where they were hurt—arm and shoulder.

So presumably, the man on the ground and the two children had been in the street, caught between the two colliding wagons.

Clint did his best to keep the people back, drafting the big man to help him. Between them they got both doctors room to work until the sheriff showed up and took over.

Finally, the doctors got their three injured patients loaded onto a buckboard. Dr. Graham’s office was the closest, so they were brought there.

“Is there a hospital in Veracruz?” Clint asked Lissa.

“No,” she said.

“So why don’t we try to have them taken to your place?” he asked.

“Graham’s is closer, he responded first, and he has more room,” she said. “It’s to their benefit to be taken there. That’s all I’m concerned about.”

Clint and Lissa turned as Dr. Graham approached them, carrying his jacket over one arm.

“Thank you for your help, Doctor,” he said. “You probably saved that little girl’s life.”

“I was glad to help, Doctor.”

Clint looked past Graham, saw his wife approaching with a furious look on her face.

“Here comes your wife,” he said.

Graham rolled his eyes and said, “Thanks for the warning.”

He turned and intercepted his wife before she could reach them. As he guided her away, she jerked her arm from his and started giving him an earful.

“He seems like a good doctor,” Clint said.

“He is,” Lissa said. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

When they stopped in front of Clint’s hotel, he did not step down right away.

“You’re a good doctor,” he told her.

“All you had was a sprained foot.”

“No,” he said, “I’m talking about those people in the accident. You were very good with those kids.”

“It’s my job.”

“But you love it.”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“And Dr. Graham noticed it, too.”

“And he’s getting an earful from his wife even as we speak,” she said. “That poor man.”

“Are there any other doctors in town?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “just him and me.”

“And no hospital.”

“No, but he’s trying to build one.”

“If he does,” Clint said, “he’ll need more doctors.”

“If he asks,” she said, “I’d have to consider it. Until then, we have our own . . . practices.”

“Well,” he said, stepping down, “thanks for dinner. And for fixing my foot.”

“How does it feel?”

“Fine, actually,” he said. “I’d forgotten all about it . . . until now.”

“Well, don’t forget to stay off it.”

“I’ll try.”

He put his hand out and she took it.

“Sure you don’t need help putting your buggy up?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she said with a smile. “See you around.”

“Let me know if I can help you with . . . anything,” he said.

“You don’t owe me anything, Clint,” she said. “You paid my bill.”

“That’s fine,” he said, “but I’ll be in Veracruz for a while. Just remember, if you need me, all you have to do is ask.”

“I will remember,” she said. “Thanks.”

He nodded. She shook the reins at her horse and headed off at a trot. He turned and went into his hotel. His foot had started to throb and he wanted to take his boot off.

 

While Dr. Oliver Graham went to work on the injured from the accident, his wife told him she was going home.

“I’ll see you there later, dear,” he said. “This might take a while.”

As she left, he was thinking he certainly could have used the help of Dr. Sugarman. Once he got his hospital up and running, he wondered how he was going to explain to his wife that he was going to offer Dr. Sugarman a position.

 

When she left her husband, Lillian Graham did not go home. She went to a hotel not far from the one Clint was staying in. She drew looks as she walked through the lobby, not because she was beautiful—she wasn’t—but because she was dressed too well for the place.

She did not stop at the front desk, but headed directly upstairs to the second floor. She walked to Room 5 and knocked. The man who opened the door was about forty, with a scarred, squared-jawed face. When he saw her, he smiled.

“Hiya, baby.”

As usual, when he called her “baby,” she got a chill.

“Come on in here,” he said, grabbing the front of her dress and yanking her into the room.

His name was Rufus. He made his living by hurting people. This was something that excited some women. But he was also ugly. That was something that excited women less. So when he found a woman who was excited by him, he forgave a lot.

This doctor’s wife was not attractive. She had a face like an axe, but Rufus found that if he stripped her naked and turned her over, she looked okay. She must have been in her late forties, but she had a pretty good body. And she also knew what to do in bed with a man—just lie there and let him have his way.

He knew the scars on his face had excited her from the beginning, but now after a few months he knew what else excited her.

He bunched the front of her dress in his fist, pulled her to him, and kissed her hard. Then he held her at arm’s length and tore the clothes from her body. She stood there with her dress in tatters, her naked breasts heaving as she breathed hard. She had remarkably good breasts for a woman her age, full, heavy, with big brown nipples.

“Come on,” she said. “I had a rough afternoon. I need this!”

He grabbed her, pawed her naked breasts, tweaked her nipples until tears came to her eyes. As good as her breasts were, it was still good to just turn her over so he wouldn’t have to see her face.

He threw her on the bed, flipped her over, and removed the rest of her dress, then slapped her hard on the buttocks until they glowed red.

“Stay there!” he said.

She remained where she was, but reached for a pillow so she could bury her face in it. She didn’t want anyone to hear her when she screamed.

He removed his trousers, and then his shirt. He had already been barefoot, and he never wore underwear. His cock was already swollen, but he reached down and stroked it so that it grew larger and harder. He stared at her ass while he did this. When he was sufficiently hard, he went to her, took her buttocks in both hands, and spread them. Then he leaned forward and spat on her anus. He’d learned this from a whore in Sonora. He worked his spit in with his big thumb, then pressed the spongy head of his cock there and pushed.

Lillian’s screams were indeed muffled by the pillow . . .

 

Clint removed his boot as soon as he got into his room. He also unwrapped the foot so he could rub it. The swelling had gone down, and he hoped it would stay down. He wanted to take a walk around Veracruz the next day, see what the town looked like, maybe even go down to the docks to see what boats were coming in, and from where.

He walked slowly over to the window to look out. It was dark, and the streets were not very well lit. He could see shadows moving about, but not many of them. People in this area were probably smart enough to stay inside.

He went back to the bed and reclined, keeping his gun close. The only benefit of having hurt his foot was that he’d met Lissa Sugarman. He hoped to see more of her in the next few days.

A lot more.

 

She had learned to keep some clothes in Rufus’s hotel room. He always tore her clothes off her. When she returned home, her husband never remembered what she had been wearing the last time he saw her.

She was sore after a couple of hours with the big ugly man. Her ass was sore from being slapped and fucked, her vagina ached, and so did her mouth and jaw. His penis was so large she sometimes thought her jaw would come unhinged, but somehow she always managed to accommodate it.

She knew she was an ugly woman, but he was an ugly man and they fit together. It excited him to brutalize a woman, and she reveled in being brutalized by him. It was something her husband would never understand.

Oliver had respect, and he had money. That was all she wanted from him. And Rufus gave her what she wanted from him, and she gave him what he wanted from a woman. And after the sex was over, they were done with each other. She had two perfect relationships with two men—one whom she dominated and one who dominated her.

In front of the hotel she got into her buggy. With any luck she’d get home before Oliver. If she didn’t . . . so what?

When Clint woke the next day, he tested his ankle immediately and found it much better. Not perfect, and he knew if he spent the day on his feet, he’d pay for it by day’s end, but it was better.

He got up, washed and dressed, strapped on his gun, and went downstairs to find some breakfast. The desk clerk that morning was someone he hadn’t seen before, so he approached.

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

“Sí, señor,” the man said, “I spik English berry good.”

Well, Clint thought, good enough.

“Where is a good place to get breakfast around here?” Clint asked.

“Señor,” the clerk asked, “jou are not looking for a eh-gringo breakfast, are jou?”

“No,” Clint said, “a Mexican breakfast is fine.”

“Ah,” the man said, grinning and showing gold teeth. “Den jou go to my seester’s cantina, up the street.” The man pointed. “Is called Josephina’s.” He pronounced it
Hosephina’s.

“Josephina’s,” Clint repeated. “Thanks.”

“De nada, señor. Please tell her that her hermano, Julio, sent you.”

“I will.”

Clint left the hotel, turned right, and walked up the street until he reached the cantina. He looked inside, saw about half of the dozen or so tables filled. But it was the aroma that drew him in and set his stomach to growling.

“Sit anywhere, señor,” a black-haired woman called out.

Clint chose a table as far from the door and windows as he could get. The Mexican couple at the next table nodded pleasantly to him, and he returned it. He saw a small bar against one wall, but no bartender. He figured this place used to be a cantina, but had since become a restaurant.