He got back to the Hamilton Hotel just as the sun was threatening to rise, a little before six. He had breakfast in the hotel dining room and then went to his room, armed himself with a few stiff drinks, and got into bed. On top of everything else his bad tooth, seemingly aggravated by the jolting and banging of the train, had ached the whole time he was in Hondo. It was a little quieter now, but he had every intention, once he’d had a nap, of finding an apothecary open on Sunday and getting himself a supply of laudanum or morphine or anything he could find that would give him some rest from the pain.
He slept until early afternoon and then got up, slowly and sleepily and sat on the side of the bed and yawned. He was grumpy and felt ill-tempered. He hated it when his sleep pattern got all turned around. Now, more than likely, he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the night ahead and it would take him a week to get back on schedule.
After he’d had a drink or two and smoked a cigarillo, he got up, feeling creaky, and took a kind of half-bath out of the wash basin, then shaved and put on a fresh set of clothes. After that he went into the dining room and talked a waiter into getting him something to eat, even though it was long past time for serving the midday meal. The waiter managed to get him a steak and potatoes and some stewed peaches. Longarm had that with coffee and, after paying his check, gave the waiter two dollars, one for himself and one for the cook. He did not ordinarily throw money around like that, but he fully intended charging it to the U.S. Marshal Service as expenses, and Billy Vail be damned.
Sunday afternoons were when the gay blades of the town and the eligible senoritas promenaded around the plaza, the girls walking in one direction, the men in the other. Longarm wandered out to watch the young men strut and the girls try to flirt without getting caught by their severe-looking chaperones.
The Laredo plaza was a big one for a town of its size. Almost a hundred yards long and half as wide, it had a bandstand and a fountain in the middle, with benches and chairs scattered about and a pleasant sprinkling of oak, elm, and even a magnolia here and there. It was paved with flagstone and offered a nice view of the river and the International Bridge. From its center Longarm could almost see Caster’s office. Wondering where Austin Davis was, he sure as hell hoped he was getting close.
He finally took refuge under a magnolia in the northeast corner of the plaza, right at the edge. He had seen the woman named Dulcima walking at the far end, and he had retreated to the hotel side to be well out of her way. The last thing he wanted or needed was for Raoul San Diego to come gunning for him over his woman.
But she did make a striking figure, even at a distance, walking along the south side of the plaza, about midway, clad in a pink dress of some shiny material that Longarm reckoned to be silk. She was carrying a closed pink parasol over her shoulder, and her gown was of a length that now and then allowed Longarm to catch a glimpse of her trim ankles beneath the ruffled hem. But it wasn’t her ankles that drew his eyes so much as the swell of her breasts and her small waist that fed into the flare of her hips. Dulcima was, indeed, a very tasty-looking woman.
He kept watching her as she reached the eastern end of the plaza and abruptly turned north. She was no more than sixty yards off, and it appeared to Longarm that she was headed directly for him. But, of course, he knew that was nonsense. She was just walking the third leg of her promenade, and would turn back west when she got to the corner. Besides, he was in the shade of the magnolia and he doubted she could see him very well from out in the bright sunshine.
She kept walking. When she got to the point when she should have turned west, she kept straight on, walking directly toward him. Suddenly Longarm was in a panic, wondering if he’d offended her in some way by eyeing her so closely. But, hell, every other man in the plaza was doing the same thing, and that was the reason she was here, to be looked at. The other women promenading were declaring themselves to be eligible, but everyone in town knew that Dulcima wasn’t up for grabs—not unless a man wanted to lose his hands.
But she was coming straight toward him, a small smile playing over her full red lips. Ten feet away, she took the parasol off her shoulder and swung it carelessly by its handle. It seemed to Longarm that the nearer she got, the more erect and inviting her carriage became. He was thinking of bolting, turning and walking away, when she said, still a yard or so away, “You like to look at Dulcima, I theenk.”
She had a pleasant, musical voice with a slight Spanish accent, but it took the words a moment to register on Longarm’s brain. Finally he managed to stammer,“Uh, ma’am-uh, what was that?”
Now she was standing right in front of him, and once again he was very conscious of the square-cut bodice of her dress and the way her golden-hued breasts swelled out at him. Holding the pink parasol in one hand, she tapped it in the palm of the other and said, “I theenk you like to look at Dulcima, no? I theenk your eyes follow me all over the place, no?” Then she laughed lightly and ran her moist, pink tongue over her lips.
The sight excited Longarm so that he could feel his jeans getting a little tight. Trying not to stammer, he said, “Why, ma’am, I didn’t mean no offense. You are wearing such a stylish outfit that it naturally took my eye.” He took off his hat and ducked his head in a kind of bow. “I hope you didn’t take it unkindly. I shore meant no harm.”
With sparkling eyes and lips curved in a smile that was very close to a laugh, she took one hand off the parasol and shook her finger close to Longarm’s face. “Oh, no no no. Now the senor tells the lie. You like my outfit. Ha ha ha. I know what you like and it ees not the dress Dulcima ees wearing. No no no. You tell me what you were looking at, hokay?”
Longarm blushed; he couldn’t help himself. “Wh-wh-why,” he stammered, “I reckon the color and style of your clothes just seemed to catch my eye, ma’am. I can’t think of nothing else.”
She put her head back and laughed, causing her long, silky hair to cascade almost to her waist. “I theenk you are the liar, senor. I know what you were watching.” She moved the slightest bit closer to him and said, “I theenk you were admiring Dulcima’s breasts and her legs and the part of her maybe you like the best.”
It caught Longarm so off balance that he stepped back as if a flaming torch had been thrust at him. Instinctively his eyes flitted around the plaza, the image of Raoul San Diego in his mind. That would be all he needed—to have to kill Caster’s gunman right before the deal was to be completed. And there was Raymond, his brother. The Tejano Cafe wasn’t that far away. He glanced in that direction, but there was no sign of the small Mexican. And, of course, there was always Jasper. He could be anywhere. But as far as that went, anyone standing around the plaza could see him talking to Dulcima and make a beeline to tell Raoul San Diego. Longarm swallowed and tried to fight the blush off his face. “Ma’am,” he said earnestly, “I don’t reckon you ought to talk like that. I understand you are already attached to another gentleman of the town. A rather well-known gentleman. I’d as soon not get crosswise with him.”
“Raoul?” She laughed. “I doan theenk a man like you is afraid of Raoul. I have been watching you, senor. I have seen you several of the times and I say to myself, ‘Dulcima, thees is a handsome man. Very strong-looking. Very ha’some in a big, rough way.’ I say to myself that such a man would make the kind of love a woman like me would like. What you theenk of that?”