Slocum's Breakout (6 page)

“A gent only a few minutes ahead of a big posse. They're after . . . smugglers,” Slocum said, taking a guess at what the men were up to. From the way they poked their shotguns in his direction, he knew he had hit the nail on the head. What they might be smuggling was beyond him, but it hardly mattered if he could get them to do what he wanted.

“Who tipped 'em off?” The second smuggler was more composed. Slocum took him to be the leader.

Addressing him, Slocum said, “Doesn't much matter. We've got to get across the water, back to the city.”

“We?” The leader laughed harshly. “How are you dealin' yourself into this game?”

“Four men rowing will get us across the Bay faster than just two.”

“Four?” The leader understood what Slocum meant, whirled, and found himself staring down the barrel of Valenzuela's six-gun.

“I can shoot them both,” Valenzuela said.

“Four of us rowing'll make better time,” Slocum said. He walked forward and saw six small caskets secured with iron straps in the bottom of boat. “We might have to leave the contraband.”

“No!”

“Then you definitely need a couple extra sets of hands on the oars.” Slocum let the two smugglers whisper back and forth a few seconds, then pressed his advantage. “We can leave you here with those casks and just take your boat.”

“No! We . . . we can all get across. The tide is out. It's dangerous anytime, but in the dead of night it's goin' to be damned near suicidal.”

“Then let's get to killing ourselves,” Slocum said. He motioned to Valenzuela to join them. For the first time, he was glad Valenzuela was with him, watching his back, making the right play and doing it without a lot of lead flying. The sound of gunfire might draw the prison guards. By now they must have reached the shoreline some distance along the coast closer to San Quentin.

“You ain't gonna rob us?”

“We're honest crooks. All we want to do is stay ahead of the law,” Slocum said with enough sincerity that the two men both nodded at the same time. They climbed into the boat and took their places on the bench seat while the one Slocum pegged as the boss pushed them off. He got them into the choppy water, then dropped the frayed end of the bowline to the bottom.

That explained what they were doing. Without the line, it wasn't possible to tie up the boat at a dock. On this rocky beach, they had simply pulled the boat far enough onto land and didn't have to secure it otherwise.

“We take turns. You two start,” the head smuggler said.

“I have a better idea,” Slocum countered. “My friend and you row, then we switch off. That way somebody's always watching to be sure nothing goes wrong.”

The smuggler thought about it a moment, then agreed. Slocum sat in the stern while the other smuggler took the prow. His boss and Valenzuela took the oars and began rowing.

The Bay proved even choppier than Slocum had anticipated, and by the time they reached the far side, avoiding the curious eyes of soldiers at Fort Point, he was sick to his stomach from the bouncing motion. He thought Valenzuela would make some snide comment about how shaky he was when he climbed onto a low dock at North Beach, but Valenzuela was as wobbly-legged as he was.

“Good luck,” Slocum said to the smugglers.

“We had that already, if we really avoided the law,” the boss said. He reached for his shotgun but didn't pick it up. “Did we?” he called.

“Did we get away from the law?” Slocum asked. “We sure as hell did.”

The smuggler relaxed. Slocum had told him what he wanted to know.

“We should have killed them both,” Valenzuela complained when they were out of the smugglers' earshot. “They will ask about a reward. The guards will lie, we will be back behind bars before the sun comes up.”

“I don't think so,” Slocum said. “I don't know what they were carrying in those barrels, but they're not going to the law. Not about us. They want to keep as much distance as we do from anyone wearing a badge.”

Valenzuela grumbled, but Slocum ignored him. He was too busy looking for a means to speed them along their way to the Valenzuelas' house south of town. He slowed and then stopped when he saw a man shoved out of a carriage hitting the cobblestones hard. He stirred drunkenly on the pavement but didn't show any other signs of life. The man who had struck him shifted over to the middle of the hard seat in the buggy and started to snap the reins, but one had fallen down in front.

Slocum moved quickly, got beside the horse, and soothed it, then snared the errant rein and held it out to the thief.

“Here you are. You should be more careful, dropping it like that.”

The man was shabbily dressed and looked like a drowned wharf rat. He reached for the rein in Slocum's hand like a striking snake. Slocum was quicker. He caught the thief's wrist and yanked so hard the small man became airborne and fell heavily to the pavement beside his victim.

“I'll cut you!” the thief cried, coming to his feet with a foot-long blade in his hand. The gaslight glinted off the wicked tip as he advanced.

Slocum gauged distances, then swung the rein still in his hand like a whip. The leather strap lashed the thief in the face. As he recoiled from the pain caused by the welt on his cheek, Slocum snapped the rein back, caught the wrist with the knife, and yanked hard.

The thief was no knife-fighting novice. He adroitly changed hands, his left now holding the knife. But he stopped when he found himself staring down the barrel of Slocum's six-shooter.

“You don't hafta shoot,” the thief said.

“See if your friend has any cash on him,” Slocum said, his eyes darting to the drunk and then back.

“Naw, he's tapped out. Me and him been drinkin' half the night. Took him forever to get that soused.”

Slocum hated sneak thieves but said nothing. He kept the six-gun pointed at the man's face until he backed off. With a flourish, the man returned the knife to whatever hidden sheath it had been drawn from, then backed off, hands up and palms facing Slocum.

Slocum waited until the man turned and ran before lowering his pistol.

“Get in,” he told Valenzuela. “It's not much but it's better than hoofing it.”

“Not so much,” Valenzuela said uneasily. He held his head canted to one side as he listened. In the distance Slocum heard police whistles. “We might do better to leave it if the police are after him.”

Slocum knew the drunk on the ground might have committed some vile crime, possibly being too free with his money, and that had drawn the Specials. They traveled in packs like feral dogs and wouldn't be satisfied until they were adequately paid off or had killed someone.

With a quick turn, Slocum got into the buggy and snapped the reins. The swaybacked horse snorted and began pulling.

“Wait, wait for me!” Valenzuela jumped aboard as Slocum pulled away. “You would not leave me! Not after you saved me from the prison. What would
su novia
say if you returned without me?”

Slocum didn't have an answer for that. He wasn't all that sure anymore what Conchita would say when he showed up with her brother.

He snapped the reins again and brought the horse to a canter to get the hell away from the policemen appearing like ghosts out of the fog at the far end of the street. Having a shoot-out with a platoon of them was the last thing he wanted.

He wasn't too sure what the first thing he wanted was, though. He would just have to find out when he delivered José Valenzuela to his dying father's bedside.

“I cannot wait to see her,” José Valenzuela said as they approached his home. He was shifting so much on the buggy seat that Slocum worried the carriage would tip over. Valenzuela swung out far and stared ahead. The sun was just creeping up and sent long shadows slanting toward them. Slocum had the feeling of driving into the sunset rather than into the rising sun of a bright new day.

Valenzuela jumped out and hit the ground running, disappearing into the front door without breaking stride. Slocum took a few minutes to drive the rig around back so it would be out of sight. The house was not far from the main road going north into San Francisco, and he didn't want a casual passerby to see the buggy or the horse. Chances were slim anyone would recognize the horse and buggy as being stolen from a drunk in northern San Francisco, but he took no chances. Memory of the San Quentin walls rising around him turned him wary. To return there was not in the cards.

He went around and stood in the low doorway to see Conchita and José clinging to one another. As he went into the small house, they parted. Conchita looked flustered, and José looked like the fox that had just eaten the chicken. All he needed were feathers around his mouth.

“You see your pa?” Slocum asked pointedly.

“I was on my way. He is very ill and still sleeps. I took a moment to thank my sister for being so clever to get you to break me out of prison.” José stepped behind Conchita, who stood a little stiffer for a moment, then José went into the bedroom just off the main room.

“Oh, John, you did it!” Conchita rushed into his arms and smothered him with kisses that made the jailbreak and everything he had endured seem worthwhile.

“Did he make it in time?”

She pushed away and looked at him, puzzled.

“Your pa. He's still aware of things around him?”

“Oh, yes, there is great pain, but he is not in a coma. José came in time.”

“How much longer do you think he has?”

“Papa?” Conchita laid her cheek on his chest. He felt her heart beating in her breast and smelled the perfume of her long, dark hair. She clung fiercely to him. “Not so long, but he wanted to see José. You have done a great thing, John. A boon. A favor that can never be repaid.”

“I'd like to look in on them. To see how they're doing,” Slocum said, moving to push Conchita out of the way. He heard strange sounds from the tiny room where José had gone.

“Let Papa enjoy José's jokes,” she said, gripping him harder. “He could always make Papa laugh. It is good for both of them.”

“I won't be a second,” Slocum said, not sure why the laughter bothered him so. That Conchita had verified it was laughter made him certain he wasn't imagining things.

“I know you won't, John,” she said, her hand pressing hotly into his chest, holding him where he stood. The hand worked slowly downward until it cupped his crotch. She began squeezing gently, then pressed her palm into the growing bulge.

She turned her beautiful face up to him, closed her ebony eyes, and pursed her lips, waiting. She didn't wait long. Slocum had gone through hell for this moment. He kissed her. She returned the passion with more ardor than he could have hoped for. Her body moved against his and her legs parted so she could wrap her thighs around his upper leg. Conchita began moving up and down, like a cat rubbing against a table leg.

She broke away breathlessly, then stood on tiptoe and licked along the line of Slocum's stubbled chin until she got back to his earlobe. She nibbled gently and whispered, “Outside. To the shed in back. It is ready for you—for us!”

Conchita pulled him behind her like a child pulling along a wagon. Slocum had to duck fast or he would have hit his head on the lintel as they went out into the morning sun. It felt hot and fine against his face. He felt renewed and happy that he had been able to help the Valenzuelas.

“Hurry, hurry, race you!” she cried. As Conchita dashed away from him, she began shucking off her clothing. Her blouse was the first to land on the ground. She stumbled and spun and got off one shoe and then the other before she reached the shed. For a moment, she fumbled with the latch. Then she had the door open and stood outlined by the doorframe.

Conchita dropped her shoes inside and began moving her shoulder sinuously to work out of her undergarment. Slocum had picked up her blouse but now slowed to watch the show she put on for him. A final shimmy brought the camisole down around her waist. She stood gloriously bare to the waist. Slocum caught his breath at the sight of those apple-sized breasts, each capped with a brown circle. In the middle of those targets grew hard little nubs betraying her arousal.

“You like what you see, my hero?” Conchita spun about, then bent over and hiked her skirt. She wasn't wearing anything under it.

Slocum had gotten so hard watching her that he felt pain in his crotch. He began unbuttoning his fly as he went to the doorway, where she waggled her bare butt in his direction. He sighed as the final button popped open, and he snapped out, fully erect. Two quick steps took him to the curvy ass presented to him. He put his hand on the sleek, warm flesh and felt the woman quivering.

“Yes, John, yes,” she whispered. Conchita reached out and grabbed the top of a crate stored in the shed. Her stance widened, inviting him to do more from behind.

Slocum stepped up to do his duty. He felt the warm half-moons on either side of him, and then he moved lower. The plum tip of his manhood touched her nether lips. He felt the moisture leaking from her. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had gone through hell for her, and this was his reward. Part of it.

His hips levered forwarded, and he sank an inch into her heated core. He paused, relishing the feel roiling up into his groin. He was becoming fully alive now. His hardness turned to steel and began to ache with real need.

He lightly spanked her mahogany-hued butt and heard her delighted yelp. He reached around her waist and pulled her back powerfully. For a moment he thought he would pass out. The tightness around him, the heat, the slickness, all worked on his senses. His loins blazed hotter than any prairie fire. When she began rotating her hips and stirred him about deep within her, he knew he couldn't simply stand still to fully enjoy this delight.