CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Mary woke up, she saw Timothy Horn lying on the floor, covered in squid-guts and semen.
The night had been a dreamlike orgy of smelly wet sex and Timothy’s nonsensical babbling. Mary didn’t understand most of what he had said. He had talked about a furry, black toad that was the size of a man and how it was behind the assassination of President Lincoln and all other political killings. Mary simply nodded and feigned interest as he went on about how the toad fashioned bullets out of black goo.
After giving his lecture, Timothy forced her to the floor several times and made her lick the squid-stained wood. Then he let Mary fall asleep only to wake her minutes later with more babbling and more disgusting requests.
Finally he fell asleep and Mary was able to get some shuteye only to awake at dawn at the first sound of commotion in the brothel.
So as she sat there looking down at the crazy son of a bitch on the floor, Mary fantasized about getting up, putting on her fancy boots, and stepping on his throat until she felt the floor through the sole of her boot.
Instead of doing that, however, she found herself staring at the squid-parts that were now scattered around the room. It was strange how they seemed to glow in the sunlight.
Timothy let out a low rumble of snores and then Mary put her head on the pillow, still staring at the fishy mess and still wondering just how she could go about killing Timothy Horn.
* * *
Bluford was surprised that he was able to sleep through the night in the church basement. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the ceiling. At first he thought about trying to catch the next stagecoach but knew that he’d probably be caught before he made it to the next stop. Then he entertained the idea of trekking through the desert on his own but realized that he was the last person to be fit for survival in such a harsh environment.
So Bluford decided on going to the hotel to get his things and taking it from there. He crawled out of the basement window and started running until he reached the alley next to the hotel. When he got up to his room, Bluford opened the door and saw a very drunk Stacklee sitting on the bed.
Shit.
“Oh,” Bluford said. He knew he was dead meat. Stacklee must have found out about the body, gotten drunk, and was now planning to beat the shit out of Bluford.
Stacklee stood up.
Bluford put his hands up. “I know what you’re thinking but you have to believe me. I didn’t kill that girl!”
“Didn’t think you did.”
Bluford squinted. “What?”
“I’m usually pretty good at knowing what a man’s capable of and you didn’t look like a man who would cut up a girl like that,” Stacklee said. Tears filled his eyes. “Not saying I’m entirely sure. Could be you’re crazy but to tell you the truth, I have a suspicion it’s someone else.”
“Who? Who would do that?”
“Timothy Horn, the mayor’s nephew. But I don’t know for sure,” Stacklee said. “Where’ve you been?”
“The church basement.”
He was interrupted by the door being kicked open and Sheriff Doyle pointing a gun at him.
“Hands up, asshole,” Doyle said, watching as Bluford complied. “Stacklee, I’m surprised to see you here. You helping him escape? You know very well this here might be the killer. Hell, he could’ve killed you for Christ’s sake.”
Stacklee said, “I don’t think he’s the one, sheriff, but if you feel you have to take him in, well, then I guess that’s what you have to do.”
“I locked Tom Duma up, too, Stack,” he said. “I’ll get to the bottom of it and if your friend here didn’t do it, well, then you two will be playing marbles in no time.”
Doyle hoped he could solve the crime with no problems. He reckoned it was one of the two men he was locking up or perhaps a drifter who was long gone. Either way, he wanted to be done with it.
So he brought Bluford to the jail and put him in with Tom Duma. Doyle looked at both men and thought that maybe they’d both hang themselves. Yeah, that’d make his job a hell of a lot easier.
* * *
Despite Bluford’s career path, he had never actually been in jail before. He was that good of a con man. So it was hard for him to grasp the concept that he might be hanged in the morning.
He was surprised he was sharing a cell with such an unassuming man, the proprietor of the General Store. That made Bluford feel a little better. At least the sheriff was open to the possibility that someone other than Bluford did it.
Tom Duma said, “So you drink that Ass Juice yet?”
“Yeah.”
Tom laughed. “How’d you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
Tom laughed again, a low chuckle that echoed through the small cell.
Bluford didn’t find the situation at all funny so he just faked a soft laugh and sat down. They both were silent and lethargic for a while, knowing that all they could do was wait until the sheriff finished his investigation.
But then Tom started pacing back and forth, biting his nails and mumbling. “There’s got to be something else. Something. I know there has to be.”
Bluford said, “Hey. You okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Okay then.” Bluford said.
Tom stopped pacing and said, “You ever been with a whore?”
“Uh, yes, I have,” Bluford said. “Why?”
“See, I never could see the draw to it. You go in there and fuck one of those whores and you pull your pecker out and think that she has a nice wet pussy but you may just be dipping your pecker in some other man’s seed. Doesn’t seem right to me.”
“I guess that’s something to think about.”
Tom stood up. “Doesn’t that seem disgusting to you? The way I see it, a man should just find himself a good virgin and if he can’t find a virgin, get a woman who isn’t so worn out. Then he could clean her up and make sure she doesn’t screw around on him.”
Bluford said, “Yeah, I suppose that’s so.”
“See, I have a wife and she treats me pretty good when she’s not raising hell, hollering at me and all that. But when we go to bed, well, that’s when the fun starts.”
“Sir, I hardly think your wife would appreciate this conversation.”
“She’s not here, now,” Tom said. “Is she?”
Bluford shook his head. “No, she isn’t.”
“You know what I like doing? I like lying on the floor and having my wife piss on my face. That’s not so strange in this town. I know what goes on there at Betty’s place and I know the girls do worse than that.”
“I didn’t say it was strange. I didn’t say anything.”
“Well, I could see by the look on your face that you’re getting uncomfortable. But I do have a point. I’m not just jawing your ear off for no reason. I’m just saying that even though my wife can be a rough bitch on occasion, I still enjoy choking on her piss. Get it?”
Bluford said, “I guess so.”
“It’s good for the skin, too. The piss, I mean. Look.” Tom put his hands on his face and walked close to Bluford. “Look at my skin. See how nice and smooth it is? That’s from my wife’s piss. That’s something, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s something.” Bluford wasn’t sure what sort of reaction Tom was expecting. Why was he talking about the disgustingly intimate details of sex acts with his wife? Was the man looking for Bluford to be sickened or excited by it? Perhaps the man wanted to find someone who shared the same desires. Still, it was a strange thing to talk about. It seemed so out of place.
“So, you been up to Betty’s place yet?” Tom said.
“Yeah.”
“Get yourself a girl?”
“Yeah.”
Tom said, “Which one?”
Bluford’s stomach churned when he thought of the eviscerated corpse. “Lily.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Tom went back to the wall and leaned on it. He stared at the floor and fell silent for several minutes. Then he said, “So was she good?”
Bluford hesitated. “Who?”
“Lily,” Tom said. “Was she a good fuck?”
“Jesus Christ.” Bluford walked to the other side of the cell and sat down. He didn’t want to talk anymore unless it could help prove his innocence. As he sat there in silence, Bluford found himself staring at Tom Duma’s face and in particular, his skin. Did his wife’s urine really work wonders like the man had claimed? He didn’t know but thought that if he did get out of the town alive, maybe he’d try it.