The Legend of El Duque (5 page)

THIRTEEN

The food was delicious, and Clint was so hungry he ate almost all of it. Same for the bucket of beer, which held probably four mugs. He drank two and stopped, not wanting to alter his perception at all, not while he was carrying Bill Werter's money. That was also the reason he preferred to stay away from the lively cantina. There'd be plenty of men there drinking and having a good time, and every chance for trouble.

There was a knock on the door about forty minutes later, and while he was expecting Eduardo or one of his cousins, he still went to answer it holding his gun. When he opened it, a young man with a smooth, unlined face smiled broadly at him.

“Clint Adams?” he asked.

“That's right.”

“I am here!” the young man said, spreading his arms wide.

“I can see that,” Clint said. “Who are you?”

“I am Manolito!”

Clint waited a moment, then said, “Sorry, I still don't know—”

“De la Vega,” the boy said. “I am Manolito de la Vega!”

“Ah . . .” Clint said, still unsure how to react.

“Don Sebastián is my papa,” Manolito said, “and he instructed me to come to Nogales and assist his good friend, Clint Adams.” The boy slammed his fist against his chest. “I am here!”

“So you are,” Clint said. “Come in.”

“Gracias, señor.”

Clint allowed the young man to enter then closed the door.

“Ah, a feast!” Manolito said, eyeing the remains of Clint's meal. “I am very hungry after my long ride.”

“Well, help yourself,” Clint said. “I'm finished.”

“Gracias, señor,”
Manolito said. He grabbed an enchilada in his hands and took a huge bite. Studying the young man, Clint could see the resemblance between father and son. They were the same height and build, though Manolito was slender. Clint had not seen Don Sebastián in about six years, but the last time he had, the older man was still standing tall, ramrod straight, with just the hint of a belly.

“There's beer in that bucket,” Clint said.

“Ah,
gracias
!”

“If you're old enough,” Clint added. The boy looked all of seventeen or eighteen to him.

“
Señor
, I am twenty-two,” Manolito said. “I am a man!”

“Yes, you are,” Clint said, “a young man.”

Manolito drank some beer and wiped it from his upper lip.

“But a man, nevertheless,” he said. He was dressed like a vaquero
,
with silver conches down the legs of his pants and on his vest, and a bolero hat hanging behind him, tied around his neck. He also wore a gun in a holster festooned with silver, the pistol itself bearing an ivory grip.

“Can you use that gun?” Clint asked. “Or is it just for show?”

“I can use it,
señor
,” the young man said. “Perhaps not as good as you, but my father would not have sent me if he did not think I could be of use.”

“No, you're probably right about that,” Clint said, sliding his gun back into the holster hanging on the bedpost.

“I can show you if you like,” Manolito said with a mouthful of frijoles.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Clint said. “Not tonight. You'll be needing a room.”

“I have money,
señor
,” Manolito said. “I can get myself a room. I just wanted to let you know that I am here.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “The desk clerk and his cousins brought me that food, so when they come for the plates, you can get yourself a room.”

Manolito picked up the last enchilada and said, “I should be finished eating by then.”

* * *

True to his word, Manolito was wiping his hands on a cloth napkin when there was a knock at the door.

This time it was the two cousins, Lupita and Consuelo. Eduardo wasn't with them. As they entered, Manolito snapped to attention.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said, removing his hat and bowing. “I am Manolito.”

Consuelo looked at Clint, but Lupita clearly found Manolito interesting.

“He's the son of a friend,” Clint said. “And he needs a room. Could you get him a key?”

“Sí, señor,”
Consuelo said, but instead of going herself, she turned and said something quickly to Lupita in Spanish. Reluctantly, the younger woman left the room.

“Is that your sister?” Manolito asked Consuelo.

“No,
señor
, she is my cousin.”

“Ah . . .”

“But I am very protective of her,” Consuelo continued, “as if she were my little sister.”

“I see.”

When she saw the empty plates, she said to Clint, “You were very hungry,
señor
.”

“My friend Manolito helped me finish,” Clint said.

Manolito smiled at her.

“That was very nice of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I am a very nice man,” Manolito said, grinning happily at Consuelo.

She nodded and walked to the chest of drawers, started stacking the plates. Before long, Lupita was back with a key, which she handed to Manolito. The hot looks they were giving each other were unmistakable. Apparently, the young man had inherited his father's appetite for women.

“Siete,”
she said to him. “Room 7.”

“Why don't you show me the way?” he suggested.

Lupita looked at Consuelo, who nodded and said something in Spanish.

The two young people left the room. Consuelo went to the door and closed it.

“What did you say to her?” he asked.

“I told her she would not be needed anymore tonight,” she said, turning to face him. Before he knew it, her loose blouse was over her head and on the floor.

FOURTEEN

Consuelo was a meaty gal.

Her breasts were big and bottom heavy, with large, brown nipples. She slipped off her skirt, then turned to show him her ass as she leaned against the door.

“Consuelo,” Clint said, “I don't pay—”

“I am not asking you to pay,
señor
,” she said, cutting him off. “I am not asking you to love, or marry. I am only asking that you—how do you gringos say it . . . fock?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “yeah, that's how some gringos say it.”

She wriggled her ass at him, got up on her toes, then bent over so he could see her shadowy butthole.

“The men here they are . . .
estúpido.
They get drunk, they grab, they pay a dollar, grunt, squirt, and sleep.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You would not sleep after.”

“Probably not,” he said, then thought, Not with that body in bed with me.

Only they didn't make it to bed right away. He dropped his pants, didn't bother removing his shirt or his boots. He went over to her, slid his raging cock up between her chubby thighs, found her wet and ready, and entered her. He “focked” her that way, against the door. Every time he thrust himself into her, she rotated her hips and pressed back against him. He held her by the hips, tried not to trip and fall over his pants, which were gathered at his ankle. She grunted and groaned, her hands pressed tightly against the door, which vibrated every time their flesh smacked together.

She spoke in Spanish, very low so that he was only aware that she was speaking, but had no idea what she was saying. It was almost like a prayer. Then he grunted and exploded inside her so violently that it hurt. He withdrew his cock, which was still hard and pulsating, and glistening wet with her juices.

She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling lasciviously, and said, “And now,
señor
, we go to bed?”

“What else would we do?” he asked.

* * *

Lupita showed Manolito to his room, using the key to open the door for him, then holding the key in her hand and staring up at him.

“This is your room,
señor
.”

“Sí,”
he said, “this is my room.”

“And your key.” She held it out.

“Why don't you come inside,
chiquita
, and show me the room.”

She pushed the door open and said, “There it is,
señor
. Your room.”

“With a big bed,” he observed.

“Sí,”
she said, “a beeg bed.”

From down the hall they heard the door to Clint's room vibrating on its hinges. It sounded like someone was lunging into it from the other side.

“I think your cousin is going to be busy for a while,” he said.

“Sí.”

He hooked his finger into the neck of her loose-fitting blouse, pulled it down until her little breasts popped free. Her dark brown nipples were already hard.

“Come inside, Lupita,” he said, “I have something to show you.”

“Something beeg?” she asked.

“Sí,”
he said, “something very beeg.”

* * *

Clint and Consuelo moved the proceedings to the bed. He sat down and she got on her knees in front of him first. She took off his boots, then his trousers. He slipped his shirt off, simply pulling it over his head without unbuttoning it. His dick was standing up from his crotch at full attention, so she leaned in and took it in her mouth. Moaning, she began to bob up and down on him, bracing herself with her hands on his thighs. He sat back, leaning on his hands, and let his head fall back. She took every inch of his cock into her hot mouth, and it felt as if the back of her throat closed around him. She was very, very good at this.

He sat that way for a little while, then suddenly she let him pop free. He opened his eyes just as she threw herself on top of him, pushing him down to the mattress on his back. She reached between his legs, held his cock, and then sat on it, taking it all the way inside her hot, steamy cunt.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said as her heat closed around him.

“Sí,”
she said into his ear,
“Jesus Cristo!”

After that, the bed began to jump.

FIFTEEN

Consuelo collected all the empty plates, then turned to look at Clint, who sat on the bed, completely spent. First he'd been riding for days, and then Consuelo had ridden him long and put him up wet. He was still trying to catch his breath.

“I bring you breakfast in the morning,
señor
?” she asked.

“I think,” he said, “I better come over to the cantina for breakfast, Consuelo.” He wanted to get an early start, and was afraid that if he let her in his room in the morning, that wouldn't happen.

She looked disappointed and said, “
Sí, señor
. Will I see you then?”

As she went out the door, he almost called her back, but decided against it. He really needed to get a good night's sleep, and if he called her back,
that
sure as hell wouldn't happen.

“Good night,
señor
,” she said as she went out the door.

“Yeah,” he said as the door closed, “good night.”

In the hall, Consuelo encountered Lupita, coming out of Manolito's room. The younger girl took some of the plates from her. They smiled at each other and went down the stairs.

* * *

In the morning, Clint dressed, packed, and walked down the hall to Room 7 with his saddlebags and rifle. He banged on the door with the rifle butt. Manolito opened the door and peered out blearily. He was wearing his shirt, open, and little else.

“I guess Lupita got you to your room last night all right, huh?” Clint asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, she sure did.”

“Well, get yourself dressed and meet me in the lobby in five minutes.”

“Five?”

Clint held up five fingers and said,
“Cinco.”

“I understand,” Manolito said. “I will be there.”

Clint went downstairs and found Eduardo behind the desk.

“I'm checking out,” he said, “and so is Room 7.”

“Sí, señor,”
Eduardo said. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

Clint wondered if Eduardo knew how much he had really enjoyed his stay.

“Yes, it was fine. Thank you for the food last night. I'll be going to the cantina for breakfast before I leave.”

“My cousins will be happy to see you,
señor
.”

Clint was paying the bill when Manolito came stumbling down the stairs.

“Sorry,” the young man said. “I am not awake yet.”

“You'll wake up at breakfast,” Clint said. “Come on. I paid for your room already.”

“I told you I have money.”

Clint waved away the young man's protest and said, “Come on.”

They left the hotel and walked across the street to the cantina.

“Is this where Lupita works?” Manolito asked.

“Yes, with her many cousins apparently.”

“Male cousins?”

“I'm sure there are some male cousins,” Clint said, “maybe even brothers.”

“I don't like brothers,” Manolito said. “I have never gotten along with brothers.”

“You have brothers?”

“No,” Manolito said, “I have a sister, and I know what I would do to any man who touched her. That is why I do not like brothers.”

“Well,” Clint said, “let's just go inside, mind our manners, and have breakfast. After that we'll be riding out of town.”

“Mind my manners,” Manolito said. “I can do that.”

SIXTEEN

Two plates of
huevos rancheros
later, Clint and Manolito were sitting drinking coffee.

“How old did you say you were?” Clint asked.

“Twenty-two.”

“Jesus,” Clint said, “if I remember right, your pa must be in his sixties.”

“Seventies.”

“Potent bastard, isn't he?”

“He was,” Manolito said. “My mother is twenty years younger than he is.”

“Is she still with him?”

“She is.”

“And your sister? How old is she?”

“Eighteen.”

“Tell me about your father's injury.”

“We had a horse on our rancho,” Manolito said, “A black devil he was. No one could ride him.”

“Don't tell me . . .”

Manolito nodded.

“My father insisted that someone had to break the devil, so he mounted him and rode him. He almost had him, too, but in the end the devil threw him, and then stomped on him, low on his back.”

“What's the doctor say?”

“He may walk again, he may not,” Manolito said. “It does not matter. He is still
El
Patrón
.”

“What the hell was he doing on that horse at his age?” Clint said.

“My father will not bend to age,” Manolito said. “If he had been able to ride, he would have come here instead of me.”

“I never should have sent him that telegram.”

“But you did,” Manolito said, “and now I am here.”

“Yes, you are,” Clint said.

Manolito took his gun out and laid it on the table.

“You think this is only a pretty gun? It is not. I can hit anything I want to hit with this gun.”

“A man?”

“Eh?”

“Have you ever killed a man with it?”

“No . . . not yet,” Manolito said.

“It's not an easy thing, killing a man,” Clint said. “Not an easy thing to do, not an easy thing to forget.”

“Do you remember the men you killed?”

“Every one of them,” Clint said. “They're in bed with me every night.” Clint reached out and pushed Manolito's gun closer to him. “Put it away.”

The younger man picked it up and holstered it.

“In fact, I think maybe you should go home, Manolito,” Clint said.

“No, I cannot,” Manolito said. “My father told me to come and help you, and that is that I will do. And you must start calling me Mano.”

“All right,” Clint said, “and you call me Clint. All I'll need of you is your knowledge of Mexico.”

“You have it!” Mano said, spreading his arms expansively.

“I'm not going to want to run into any patrols while I'm in Mexico.”

“We will avoid them.”

“I don't trust the so-called law in your country.”

“Who does?” Mano asked. “I will show you the way, but where are we going? And what are we doing?”

Clint told him.

“A bull?”

“A prized bull. El Duque.”

Mano's eyebrows went up.

“I have heard of this bull,” he said. “He is a legend.”

“Well, he's a legend on his way to the United States.”

“And you are a legend,” Mano said. “Two legends!”

“Let's get going.” Clint stood up, threw some money down on the table.

Consuelo and Lupita did not follow them out, did not beg them to stay. The two cousins had gotten what they wanted the night before.

Outside Clint looked up and down the street.

“There's something you should know,” he said.

“What?”

“They'll try to stop us.”

“Who?”

“Men,” Clint said. “On both sides of the border. They'll try to steal the money I'm carrying, or they'll try to take the bull.”

“Then I must tell you something.”

“What?”

“I can guide you there, and we can avoid patrols,” Mano said, “but that will be much more difficult coming back with a bull.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I guess we'll have to take our chances.”