“Oh, Señor, you do not want an American whore,” the young one said. “The blood of American whores runs cold. The blood of the Mexican whores runs hot. I am Mexican,” she added. “That means my blood runs hot for you.”
She emphasized her comment by arching her back proudly and pushing her pelvis forward. “Don’t you want me, Señor?”
“I told you, I am looking for an American whore. Do you know a whore named Suzie?”
“Suzie? Sí, Señor, we know Suzie,” the older of the two girls responded. “But I think you will like Frederica and me better than Suzie.”
“This one is Frederica,” Dagen said, pointing to the young one. “What is your name?”
“I am Ava.”
“Well, Ava, me’n my pards here has rid a long ways and we’re hungry and thirsty,” Dagen said. “But as soon as we eat ’n drink, why, I reckon we could show you and little Frederica here a thing or two.”
“No, we cannot,” Fargo said. “I told you boys, we ain’t got time for none of this. Leastwise, not till we get back what’s rightfully ours,” he added, using the term “rightfully” in its broadest possible sense since they actually had no right to the money at all.
Fargo looked directly at Frederica. “I want Suzie,” he said.
“Sorry, Señor, but Suzie is not here now,” she answered.
“You don’t have time for us, but you have time for a gringo girl?” Ava asked, pouting.
“Honey, I got time for you,” Monroe said. “It don’t take me very long a’tall. Hey, Fargo, come on, what do you say a few of us take a little time off and go upstairs with ... ?”
“No!” Fargo said sharply. Then, turning to Frederica, he asked again. “Where is Suzie?”
As she realized that she was not making any progress with him, the smile left Frederica’s face and she shrugged. “She is in her crib, Señor, but I know she will not see you now. She has a man with her, and I think he will stay the night.”
“Who is he?” Fargo asked. “Who is the man with her?”
“It is someone,” Frederica answered. “I do not know his name.”
“What does he look like?”
“He is a gringo,” Frederica said with a shrug of her shoulders. “How can I tell you what he looks like? All gringos are the same.”
“You can’t tell me anything about him at all?” Fargo asked. “Tall, short? Beard, no beard? Cowboy, miner?”
Frederica shrugged. “He is not tall and he is not short. He does not have a beard but he needs a shave.”
Fargo took out two dollars and put the money on the table. “Are you sure that is all you can tell me?”
The woman shrugged. “Maybe I can tell you something more,” she said. “El gringo cojea.”
“What?”
“Son of a bitch!” Dagen said, slapping his hand on the table. “Fargo, it’s him! Suzie is with Ponci!”
“What did she say?” Fargo asked.
“She said the gringo has a limp.”
“A limp? The hell you say.” Fargo smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s our boy Ponci,” he said. “It has to be.” Happily, he gave a dollar each to the two women.
“Gracias,” they said, taking the money and putting it down into their exposed cleavage.
“I told you boys we would find him,” Fargo said. “Come on, let’s go see the son of a bitch.”
“It will do you no good to go see the gringo, Señor. Suzie will not see you,” Frederica said as the four men stood up from the table.
“Oh, I think she will,” Fargo said.
“Don’t you ladies go anywhere. We’ll be back,” Casey promised as they started toward the door.
“Don’t count on it,” Fargo said.
At a table in the back corner of the saloon, Billy Cates turned so that Fargo Ford wouldn’t see his face. Billy had once ridden with Fargo, but they’d had a falling-out over some money. Billy and his friend Les Wilson accused Fargo of cheating them on their share of the money they’d stolen from a general store over in Cholla. They settled the argument with guns, and when it was over, Fargo rode away with all the money, leaving Billy wounded and Les dead on the floor.
Billy had been going straight ever since then, working now as a cowboy on a ranch just outside of Mesquite. He did not want to renew his acquaintance with Fargo Ford under any circumstances.
He stayed there, with his back turned, until Fargo and the others were gone.
“Do you know where to go?” Dagen asked after they stepped outside.
“Yeah, I know where to go. I know where her crib is.”
“Listen, Fargo, uh, since you wouldn’t let us have nothin’ to do with Frederica or Ava, how about while you’re dealing with Ponci, we ... well, not you, but would you mind if the rest of us ... uh ... well, I mean, I know she is your sister, but if she is a whore and ...” Dagen let the sentence hang when he saw the way Fargo was looking at him.
“After we take care of Ponci, we ain’t going to be staying around long enough for nothin’ like that,” Fargo said. “Besides, you think I’m just goin’ to stand around and let you screw my sister?”
“Why the hell not? You said yourself she’s a whore. Ain’t that what whores do?”
“Yeah, Fargo, what do you say? I mean, you could come back here with one of them Mex girls whilst the rest of us screw your sister,” Casey said.
“Unless you got a thing aginst us doin’ what ever’one else is doin’ to your sister.”
“You could all three screw her at the same time as far as I’m concerned,” Fargo answered. “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. But after we get finished with Ponci, I don’t think it will be all that smart for us to be hangin’ around here.”
“Oh,” Dagen said. “Oh, yeah, I reckon I see what you mean.”
The four men mounted their horses and rode down to the far end of the street, stopping in front of a leather goods store.
A sign hung from an iron rod that protruded from the front of the store.
ARMBRUSTER’S LEATHER GOODS
SADDLES—BOOTS
HOLSTERS—BELTS—CHAPS
H. Armbruster, Prop.
The sign made a squeaking noise as a gentle breeze moved it back and forth on its hinges. Next door to the leather goods store was WHITE’S APOTHECARY. It didn’t have an overhanging sign, but there was a painting on the window of a mortar and pestle.
Fargo dismounted, and handed the reins of his horse to Casey. “You boys wait here,” he said. “And take care of the horses. When I come out of there, I don’t want to be pickin’ my nose and scratchin’ my ass, lookin’ for my horse like what happened to us back in Calabasas.”
“You don’t need to be worryin’ none about that,” Dagen said. “Your horse will be here when you come back, I promise.”
Fargo smiled. “Oh, I ain’t goin’ to worry none, Dagen,” he said. “If my horse is gone when I come back, I’ll just kill you and take yours.”
“Your horse will be here,” Dagen said again.
“Hey, how come I don’t seen Ponci’s horse anywhere?” Monroe asked.
“The dumb son of a bitch ain’t that dumb,” Fargo answered. “He’s not likely to leave his horse tied up out on the street where we could see it now, is he? I mean, you have to know he’s figurin’ on us comin’ after him.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Monroe said.
Fargo pulled his pistol, then started walking through the narrow passageway between the leather goods store and the apothecary. He continued on down the constricted path between the two buildings until he reached the alley. Then he saw it, his sister’s crib. It was on the other side of the alley, a small, one-room shack made of unpainted wood. A very dim light, which Fargo supposed was a candle, glowed from inside the little crib.
Fargo walked very quietly to the front door, then slowly tried the door handle. The door was locked, but Fargo knew where Suzie kept a spare key. He reached up into the eaves and poked around with his fingers until he felt it. Then, putting the key in the lock, he turned it very carefully and pushed the door open. He stepped inside with his gun arm extended before him.